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SUMMER AT WOODVILLE. 


BY 

ANNA T. SADLIER, 

Author of “ Names that Live ” “ Women of Catholicity,” etc. 






NEW YORK, CINCINNATI, CHICAGO I 

Bbnziger Brothers, 

Printers to the Holy Apostolic See. 

■ 1897. 


Pz 7 
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copy pl 


IN THE SAME SERIES. 

The Blissylvania Post Office. By Marion 
Ames Taggart. i6mo, cloth, 50 cents. 

Three Girls and Especially One. By 
Marion Ames Taggart. i6mo, cloth, 
50 cents. 

An Heir of Dreams. By Sallie Margaret 
O’Malley. i6mo, cloth, 50 cents. 


Copyright, 1897, by Benziger Brothers. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER I. 

PAGE 

Nan and the Others, 5 

CHAPTER II. 

Nan’s Tea-Party, 20 

CHAPTER III. 

The Country House on the Moor, . . . 30 

CHAPTER IV. 

The Adventure on the Moor, 39 

CHAPTER V. 

The Ball of the Flowers, ... .49 

CHAPTER VI. 

A Wet Afternoon, 62 

CHAPTER VII. 


A Place of Mystery, 


74 


4 


Contents. 


CHAPTER VIII. 


The Witch, 


CHAPTER IX. 

A Day’s Outing, . . . 

CHAPTER X. 

Brakenbridge Hall, .... 

CHAPTER XI. 
A Delayed Invitation, 

CHAPTER XII. 

A Day with the Squire, . 


CHAPTER XIII. 


The Lily-Pond, 


CHAPTER XIV. 

A Pathetic Little Patient, . 

CHAPTER XV. 

Farewell to Woodville, 


PAGE 
. 86 

. 97 

. 106 

. iig 

. 130 

. 148 

• i53 

• 159 


A SUMMER AT WOODVILLE. 


CHAPTER I. 

NAN AND THE OTHERS. 

Nan was sitting on the stump of a tree in 
the glade, a clearing in the midst of a great 
wood. Oaks arose on all sides, making 
bronze lights and yellow lights on the green- 
sward. Nan’s lap was full of flowers, which 
she was sorting and laying aside. 

Little Martha sat near, watching and help- 
ing, as far as she would be allowed, in the 
operation, and occasionally giving big Duke 
a pat upon the head, to which he responded 
by a sleepy wag of the tail. 

“ I wonder why Duke is nearly always 
asleep," said Martha to her little brother 
Charlie, who was carefully placed upon a 


6 


Nan a?id the Others . 


rug with his back to the tree, for Charlie had 
never walked ; a fall had crippled him soon 
after his birth. 

Charlie looked at the dog as if he were 
studying the question, and Nan answered : 

“ Because he’s lazy.” 

Nan was a great, sturdy girl of ten, with 
tanned cheeks, a cluster of black curls, and 
brown eyes. 

“ These flowers,” she was saying. “ will 
look well on the altar to morrow. Of course 
it’s the Assumption, and they want a lot at 
the church for the Blessed Virgin's altar ; 
but those you brought, Martha, aren’t much 
use.” 

A cloud fell upon Martha’s sensitive face, 
her gray eyes looking black when she was 
moved. 

” Well, then,” she said, “ I couldn’t find 
any others.” 

“Mulleins!” cried Nan contemptuously. 
“ Who on earth would put mulleins on an 
altar? Here, Duke, you can have that.” 

Duke sniffed at the offering as Nan threw 
it towards him, and, declining the gift, 
resumed his interrupted nap. 


Nan and the Others . 


7 


“ And that columbine — it’s withered. 
There, Duke.” 

“ I want it,” said a voice from the rug. 

Martha was up in an instant. 

“ Would you really like it ?” she asked. 

“ Yes ; get it for me.” 

Martha obeyed, seizing the drooping flower 
and putting it into her brother’s hand. He 
languidly examined it, a smile breaking over 
his face as he noted its curious shape and 
delicate tints. 

Martha, arranging the rug more comfort- 
ably about Charlie, resumed her seat. 

“You only spoil Charlie waiting on him 
like that,” observed Nan. 

“ What if I do ?” answered Martha. 

“ Such a child !” added Nan, going briskly 
on with her work ; “ you can’t make her 
hear reason.” 

Presently Nan held up a beautiful spray of 
wild roses. 

“ Oh, that’s lovely, Martha ; that’s out of 
your bunch. Where did you get it ?” 

Martha’s face lit up with pleasure as she 
answered : 

“ I got it just near the school-house.” 


8 


Nan and the Others. 


“ Go and get me one,” said Charlie’s shrill 
voice. 

Martha hesitated. 

44 O Charlie !” she said, 44 I don’t think I 
could now.” 

44 Why not?” 

4 4 Because there’s a big dog at the grocery 
shop, and I’m afraid to pass.” 

4 4 Oh ! girls are always afraid,” said Charlie, 
44 I know.” 

44 Oh ! yes,” said Martha ; 41 he bit some 
one once, and he barked at me yesterday.” 

The tears began to gather in Charlie’s eyes 
and to roll down his cheeks. That was too 
much for Martha. She stood resolutely 
up. 

44 There’s a cracker in my pocket,” she 
said, 44 and I’ll just break it in two and throw 
a piece to that dog, and while he’s eating it 
I’ll run past.” 

44 He’ll run after you for some more, ” said 
practical Nan. 

44 Then I’ll throw him the other bit.” 

Nan laughed a pleasant, wholesome laugh, 
grateful to the ear. 

44 He has four legs,” she said, 44 and he’ll 


Nan and the Others . 


9 


catch up with you as soon as he’s eaten the 
second bit.” 

Martha stood undecided. 

“You little goose, you’ll only have to 
come back again,” said Nan. 

” Will you not make me go, Charlie,” said 
Martha, “ if I let you play with my new 
Noah’s ark that I got on my birthday ?” 

But Charlie was unrelenting. 

” If I let Jim out for you this afternoon ?” 

” I don’t want Jim. I’m afraid of him.” 

Jim was a beautiful green-and-red parrot, 
Martha’s possession of which was much en- 
vied by the neighborhood. 

” I want the roses, Martha,” whimpered 
Charlie. 

“ Well, I’ll go,” said Martha, her little 
face flushing with its brave resolution. She 
took the biscuit from her pocket and set off. 
She trembled a little as she approached the 
dreaded spot. From the shop-door, indeed, 
promptly issued a fierce-looking mastiff, 
barking furiously. 

With trembling fingers Martha broke off a 
bit of the cracker and threw it down. But 
the dog, disdaining the proffered bribe for 


IO 


Nan and the Others. 


the moment, flew after the poor little flying 
feet with fierce barks. He evidently thought 
the child's running a very suspicious circum- 
stance. 

When he had followed some little distance 
he suddenly gave up the chase and walked 
leisurely back, as if believing his duty done. 
Martha gave a gasp of relief as she saw her 
dreaded enemy turned in the opposite direc- 
tion. She stopped a moment to take breath 
and replace her hat, which had fallen back 
on her neck. The dog, meanwhile, devoured 
with evident relish the cracker which she 
had thrown to him. 

Nan, who had watched the affair with 
secret uneasiness, and reviled Charlie for his 
share in it, laughed when she saw its happy 
outcome. 

“ Martha’s such a goose,” she said. 

“ No, she ain’t !” cried Charlie from his 
vantage-ground on the rug. 

“As if you knew !” said Nan scornful- 

>y- 

“ 1 do know. She ain’t as much of a goose 
as you.” 

“ There !” cried Nan, starting up in real 


Nan and the Others . 


ii 


concern ; “I knew something would happen 
to that child. ” 

For Martha, in trying to pass her enemy 
successfully, offering him her second piece 
of cracker, had tripped and fallen, and the 
dog, who was not so ill-natured as he ap- 
peared, stood near his prostrate foe, with an 
occasional growl if she stirred. 

Nan’s long legs quickly covered the 
ground, and Duke, thoroughly aroused now, 
came bounding along, evidently bent on de- 
manding account from that vulgar animal as 
to why he was raising such a disturbance. 

Nan raised Martha, who was crying bit- 
terly and who was very dusty. Duke paused 
to lick her hand as he bustled fiercely for- 
ward towards the grocer’s disagreeable 
mastiff. 

” Don’t let them fight,” said Martha 
through her tears, “ because Duke might 
get bitten.” 

But Duke gave only a hasty wag of the 
tail in response to the remonstrances ad- 
dressed to him, and advanced to the battle. 
He seemed to be asking how grocery had 
dared to maltreat his little friend, while 


12 


Nan and the Others . 


grocery answered that he hadn’t done any- 
thing to the little girl ; that he just barked 
to find out why she was running, and growled 
an “ I told you so” when she fell down ; but 
that anyway he was ready for Duke or any 
other dog, even if he did come from the city 
and thought himself a swell. 

The matter was evidently serious between 
them, and the two girls withdrew to watch 
the encounter, Martha looking pale and 
troubled. Charlie from afar grew quite ex- 
cited over the contest, trying to stand and 
betting loudly upon Duke. The battle was 
put an end to by the grocer’s boy coming 
forth with a bucket of cold water, and Duke, 
somewhat wet, as well as dampened in spirit, 
went back with Nan and Martha to where 
Charlie sat. 

He tried to carry off the situation bravely, 
wagging his tail high in the air, as if it were 
a flag of truce, and licking Nan’s hand, as if 
in excuse for his disobedience. 

Nan, who was presently busy with the 
flowers again, remarked to him : 

“ Now, sir, see what you got for not doing 
what you were told. Your coat is all wet.” 


Nan and the Others . 


i3 


Martha asked Nan if she might make one 
of the bunches for the church. Nan with 
her lordly air consented, saying, however : 

4 4 1 won’t give you the best flowers, though, 
because you’re too little to know how to do 
them right.” 

But Martha could arrange flowers > very 
nicely. If her dimpled fingers were little, 
they were very deft, and could do many 
things. 

44 Charlie,” said Nan, breaking silence after 
some time, ‘‘aren’t you glad you came to 
Woodville this summer ?” 

4 4 You bet !” cried Charlie, who had picked 
up a certain number of slang phrases from 
the few boys he had ever known, and used 
them with comical effect. 

44 There were such lots of things to do 
ever since we came,” said Nan. 

44 Picking berries,” suggested Martha. 

44 Picking lots of things,” said Nan — 44 flow- 
ers, roots, moss, leaves, herbs.” 

44 Feeding the chickens,” said Martha. 

44 And the ducks in the pond, the pigs in 
the Jenkins’ farm-yard, the pigeons, and the 
sparrows,” assented Nan. 


14 


Nan and the Others. 


“ Riding on the donkey — I think we’re 
going to,” said Martha. 

” Pretty soon there’ll be apples to gather,” 
continued Nan, ” and nuts.” 

Charlie listened with rather a wistful face. 
Few of these things could he do. Nan now 
bade her cousins remain where they were, 
while she went over to the church to give 
the flowers to Father McNally. She left 
Duke in charge of them. The girl’s light, 
springing step, graceful figure, in its simple, 
but exquisitely fine and neatly made pink 
gingham, crowned with her flower-wreathed 
hat, made her seem like some figure of spring 
flitting through the green leaves. 

“ Martha,” said Charlie, falling into one 
of his quiet moods when he no longer talked 
slang nor asked unreasonable things of his 
patient little sister, ” if my legs were good 
I think I'd like to be a soldier when I’m a 
man.” 

“Would you?” said Martha. “Well, I 
don't think you can be.” 

She spread a row of acorns in front of her 
as she answered. 

” I want to,” Charlie added ; “I like 


Nan and the Others . 


J 5 


their coats and the shining things they 
wear.” 

“ But then they go away to the war and 
get killed,” said Martha. 

“ If I could be a general I wouldn't get 
killed,” said Charlie. 

You might,” said Martha. “Do you 
want some acorns, Charlie?” 

The subject of soldiers was getting rather 
beyond her. 

“ Yes ; I will make them into regiments,” 
answered Charlie, full of the whim of the 
moment. “ That big fellow will be a gen- 
eral. You can keep house for me when 
I’m a general,” said Charlie condescend- 
ingly. 

“ If you have a house,” said wise Martha. 

” Of course 1 will — generals always do. 
I’ll have a sword, too, and gold pieces on 
my shoulders, and a cocked hat.” 

In his enthusiasm the poor little man tried 
to rise, and fell back helplessly on the rug. 
Martha was quickty at his side, raising him 
carefully, and placing him once more against 
the tree. 

“Did you hurt yourself, Charlie?” she 


i6 


Nan and the Others. 


asked anxiously. “ Oh ! please don’t try to 
stand.” 

” I can’t be a general,” wailed Charlie, 
4t because my legs are no use.” 

“ Maybe they’ll grow strong,” said Mar- 
tha, ” if you don't try to stand on them now. 
See, you can make a garden, and the acorns 
can be cabbages, with pieces of green around 
them for leaves.” 

Martha had the wise thought of trying to 
change the current of her brother’s thoughts 
and distracting them from soldiers. While 
Charlie was busy with the new idea Nan 
came bounding back. 

“ I took the flowers to Father McNally. 
He was glad to get them, and put them at 
once on the altar. He said they were not 
half so dear to Our Lord and our Blessed 
Lady as the hearts of the children who gath- 
ered them. I went to confession afterwards, 
and then I said my beads.” 

” I haven’t been to church to-day yet,” 
said Martha, ” but I will go on the way 
home, if you will drive Charlie while I’m in.” 

” Yes,” said Nan ; ” and I think we’d bet- 
ter go now it’s getting late.” 


Nan and the Others. 


i7 


So when Charlie had been put into his car- 
riage the children drove him out of the 
woods and into a small cross lane, which led 
to the street of the church. 

Most people know Woodville, or at least 
they have seen villages like it. It is a charm- 
ing spot, with woods lying all about in vari- 
ous directions, and green lanes, overrun in 
the spring and early summer with wild flow- 
ers. There are always pleasant smells in the 
air of sweet clover, or of new-mown hay, or 
of honey, or of apples. The houses on 
Church Street, as it is called, are mostly 
white, with bright green shutters and broad 
galleries to them. They stand in regular 
rows, with little bits of ground before them 
covered with grass or flower-beds. The 
church is wooden, painted light brown, with 
a square belfry, and surrounded by an open, 
grassy square. The graveyard is not there. 
It is at the farther end of the village. Of 
course there are other churches in Wood- 
ville, but this is the Catholic church. Its 
cross shines out in the morning sun, is gilded 
by the sunset’s departing glow, or gleams in 
the moonlight, to tell rich and poor, big peo- 


1 8 Nan and the Others. 

pie and children that Christ died long ago 
for men, and upon a cross. Some of the vil- 
lage people at first rather objected, but came 
to the conclusion “ that it looked kinder 
handsome, especially in the sunset.” 

“ A church must have a cross,” said Nan 
to them ; ” we mightn’t know what it was.” 

When the children came to the church- 
door Martha went in, a quaint little figure in 
her plaid gingham, white pinafore, and wide 
hat. The solitary occupant of the church, 
its size, though it was not a very large edi- 
fice, seemed to swallow her up. She knelt 
on the step of the sanctuary, folding her little 
hands devoutly. 

Nan drove Charlie’s carriage in through 
the gate of the grassy enclosure, and held 
the church-door open, that Charlie might be 
enabled to look in. 

Charlie, solemn at times as a chief-justice, 
gazed in with wide-open black eyes at the 
altar and the red light which burned before 
it, and the statue of the Virgin Mother, with 
the fresh flowers so lately placed before it. 

“ There’s our flowers, Nan,” said Charlie, 
in an excited whisper. 


Nan and the Others. 


19 


“ Yes,” said Nan ; 44 I saw Father McNally 
putting them there.” 

Who’s Father McNally ?” asked Charlie. 

44 Why, you stupid child, don’t you remem- 
ber that priest with the white hair that came 
to see us and gave you a medal ?” 

44 Oh, yes,” cried Charlie ; 44 I know him.” 

44 And you saw him at church one day ; 
papa took you there.” 

44 He had a pinnie on,” said Charlie, with 
swift remembrance. 

44 A pinnie !” cried Nan, in a tone which 
spoke volumes ; 44 a surplice you mean.” 

44 It looked like a pinnie,” said Charlie in a 
less confident tone. 

Here Martha came out. 

44 Did you say a prayer, Charlie?” she 
asked. 

44 No,” said he.” 

44 Well, say one now.” 

44 I won’t,” answered the perverse lad. 

44 Wretched little fellow !” muttered Nan 
audibly. 

44 Then God won’t take care of you,” said 
Martha, 4 4 and perhaps He won’t make your 
legs grow.” 


20 


Nail's Tea-Party . 


“ I’ll say my prayers now,” said Charlie, 
and he began to repeat his simple formula. 

“Just because you want your legs to 
grow,” said Nan, with another touch of 
scorn. 

“ Well, if he does ?” Martha said. 

And she might have added that he was no 
worse than many other children and even 
big people, who never say their prayers un- 
less they want something. 


CHAPTER II. 
nan’s tea-party. 

Nan and her cousins lived in a long, low 
house, snow-white, with brown shutters. 
Any one who has been to Woodville knows 
the exact spot. It has a row of grim-looking 
poplars in front, and a bunch of rather thick 
ailanthus-trees at one side, and a flower-gar- 
den at the other side, extending round to the 
back, where there is a stable and a view of 
the Jenkins’ farm-yard. 


Nans Tea-Party, 


21 


Nan’s father and grandfather had owned 
this place, and she had been there every 
summer of her life ; but this particular sum- 
mer a new element had come into the house. 
Her orphan cousins, Martha and Charlie, had 
come to live with her. As she had no 
brothers or sisters of her own, and as her 
own mother was dead, Nan was very glad of 
the change. 

The glory of Nan’s dwelling, which made 
an afternoon spent there a joy forever to the 
children of the neighborhood, was a glass 
addition to the house, on the side facing the 
flower-garden. It had probably been meant 
for a conservatory, but was now fitted up as 
a play-room ; and it had one feature which 
shall be presently-described, and which made 
it specially attractive. Dolls of all makes 
and sizes sat round the room, four of them 
monopolizing a tea-table, on which appeared 
a colossal set of china, with spoons, forks, 
knives, napkins, and napkin-rings. These 
dolls were in every variety of costume — some 
clad like ladies of the olden time, some as 
peasants, others as widows, brides, queens, 
and a few as soldiers, notably zouaves. To 


22 


Nans Tea-Party . 


every one of these dolls Nan had given a 
name, and to each she had attached a his- 
tory. But it would take too long to tell all 
these stories. If the reader ever goes to 
Woodville in summer Nan will tell all about 
them herself. 

In the corner of the room was a bookshelf 
full of the most wonderful lore — fairy tales, 
annuals, books of travel, toy books, and a 
choice collection of lives of the saints. Nan 
had mastered these latter, and in quiet even- 
ings often descanted to Martha and Charlie 
of St. Rose of Lima, St. George and the 
dragon, St. Agnes, and St. Aloysius. 

There was the painting-corner, with paint 
boxes, brushes, and palettes laid out on a 
table in dazzling array. There was a work- 
table, too, with wools for knitting and 
crochet, and beads for stringing. There 
were games of almost every sort, and paper 
dolls in abundance. 

To Martha and Charlie this had seemed 
like a fairy palace ; but their delight reached 
its climax when Nan showed them “ the up- 
stairs room” in the corner. This was the 
feature of the place, as already mentioned. 


Natl s Tea-Party. 


23 


There was a staircase, a real one, leading up 
to a species of square gallery, railed round 
and curtained in. It was furnished like a 
parlor with chairs, tables, pictures, and a 
jet of electric light. It was not very high, 
and the stairs leading there were certainly 
short, but to children it was as wonderful as 
Aladdin’s palace. 

This particular afternoon Nan had asked 
their usual associates, Edith and Mary Good- 
win, Harry Moore, and Willie Slocum, as 
well as two or three other “strange chil- 
dren,” as Nan said. She meant, of course, 
that they did not know them so well, or did 
not play with them as often. 

The guests having arrived, Nan received 
them in state, requiring them to walk sol- 
emnly up-stairs, which, indeed, they enjoyed 
doing, making pretexts for going down and 
coming up again. Very soon after their 
arrival Nan’s father put his head in the door 
of the glass-room and called out : 

“ Nan, Nan, my girl, where are you ?” 

Nan’s face appeared between the curtains. 
The friendship between father and daughter 
was rare and beautiful. 


24 


Nan's Tea-Party. 


“Do you know who I have to tea this 
afternoon ?” she asked. 

“ Who ?” 

44 Guess !” shouted Nan. 

4 4 Lucy Lummis ?” 

4 4 Oh, you dear, old papa ! she’s gone away 
from Woodville a week ago.” 

44 Agnes Wallace?” 

44 She's not here at all this summer,” said 
Nan, with a buist of laughter which was 
echoed behind the curtains. 44 I’ll just have 
to tell you — you’ll never guess. Why, it’s 
just the Goodwins, Harry Moore, and Willie 
Slocum.” 

Papa, who had purposely avoided men- 
tioning their nearest neighbors to give Nan 
the pleasure of telling him, now advanced to 
greet the guests. He was a tall, broad- 
shouldered man, with brown hair, not so 
dark as Nan’s, and blue eyes. His smile 
always attracted people, and even the most 
timid children came to him at once. His 
head just came to the top rail of the gallery. 

Hello, Martha, is that you in the cor- 
ner?” he asked. 

Martha’s face broadened into a smile. She 


Nan s Tea-Party. 


2 5 


was very fond of her uncle, but she didn't 
say anything. Nan’s father said a few words 
to each of the guests and went away, leaving 
them to enjoy themselves. 

“ If we’re here at Thanksgiving,” said 
Nan, from her station on the sofa, ‘ ‘ I think 
we'll have a play and some tableaux.” 

” That would be lovely !” cried the Good- 
win girls in chorus. ” What would you 
have ?” 

“ Well, the play I might have to write,” 
said Nan, ” but the tableaux would be 
American, of course.” 

“ Tell us some !” cried the boys. 

“ Cornwallis giving his sword to Washing- 
ton,” began Nan. 

“ I’ll be George Washington,” said Charlie. 

“ Such a child !” exclaimed Nan. “ As 
if a little snip like you could be Washington. 
I think it will be Harry Moore, because he's 
the biggest. ” 

Willie Slocum looked a trifle disappointed. 
He, too, would like to have been George 
Washington. Presently he brightened up as 
Nan said : 

“ Willie Slocum might be Cornwallis, and 


26 


Nan s Tea-Party, 


there would have to be some boys standing 
behind for the army. That would be rather 
hard,” she added reflectively, “ for we don’t 
know many boys.” 

” A tableau with no girls in it won’t look 
very well,” said Edith Goodwin. 

“ We’ll have others with girls in it,” said 
Nan. “ We can think of lots before then. 
It’s a long time till Thanksgiving. ” 

Martha was sitting all this time, shyly in 
the corner. She never talked much when 
outside children were present, though she 
very much delighted in their company. 

“ Will you be in a tableau ?” asked good- 
natured Mar}’- Goodwin, bending towards 
her. 

If Nan wants me to,” said Martha. 

“ Oh, we’ll see,” said Nan, ” if there's any 
part for little children ; and even if there 
isn’t, I think you’d do for an old lady with 
your hair powdered.” 

Nan had now to leave the subject as well 
as her guests and go to see about tea, which 
was served in an adjoining room. A pleas- 
ant spot, with windows down to the ground, 
opening on a veranda, where vines of clematis 


JVa?i s Tea-Party . 


27 


had survived the roses, which earlier had 
mingled with them. Through the open door 
was heard the voice of the parrot, and Charlie 
broke the silence which followed Nan’s exit 
to order Martha to go and let out the parrot. 
The little creature went at once, and having 
taken down the cage opened the door and 
let out the bird. Presently he stalked majes- 
tically over the threshold and into the play- 
room, his tail sweeping the floor. He was 
greeted with shouts of glee from the chil- 
dren. Soon his own shrill treble was heard : 

“You a good bird? You a precious 
bird ?’’ 

Martha had put her hat on, specially that 
the bird might say, “ Been out this morn- 
ing?’’ which he instantly did, repeating the 
inquiry till he wearied of that subject. Then, 
eying the noisy group in “the up-stairs 
room,’’ where Martha had bade them stay 
lest Jim should bite, he called in an authori- 
tative and even angry tone : 

“ Good-by now — good-by now.’’ A pause 
and a louder scream of 4 ‘ All right ; good- 
by.” 

Each of the bird’s speeches was received 


28 


Nan s Tea-Party. 


with fresh applause, and when at last he took 
up his position in the middle of the floor and 
began a medley of songs— “ Home, Sweet 
Home, " “ Old Black Joe, " “ Aunt Carolina" 
— their delight was unbounded. 

The parrot, perceiving Duke asleep near 
the grate-fire, walked a little in his direction, 
whistling and calling : 

“ Here, Duke ! Here, Duke ! Here, 
Duke !" 

Duke was contemptuous and unrespond- 
ing, and never stirred till old Mary came in 
to recapture the parrot and announce that 
tea was ready. Such a tea ! The thin-sliced 
ham, decorated with green, the hot rolls, the 
honey, the spiced gingerbread — all prepared 
by old Mary herself, whose skill as a cook 
was beyond compare. She had made some 
pralines , too, of pecan nuts and brown sugar, 
the recipe of which she had learned from an 
old Southern negro woman. 

"‘You always have such lots of good 
things. Nan," said Edith Goodwin. 

"Do we?" said Nan. "Mary always 
makes our meals nice, I think." 

“ Them pralines are A No. i," said Harry 


Nan s Tea-Party. 


2 9 


Moore, who had just mastered, with some 
difficulty, the name of this foreign dainty. 
“ Ain’t they, Willie ?” 

I guess they are,” said Willie, whose 
mouth was that moment full of one of them. 

44 I saw Mary making them,” announced 
Charlie proudly. 

How did you see her ?” asked Nan. 

44 He was in the garden, and he looked in 
the kitchen window,” explained Martha. 

4 4 Oh,” said Nan. 

When the busy clatter of knives and forks 
had begun to subside Nan said : 

44 If we have all finished, suppose we go 
back to the play-room and play games. I 
know two or three new ones.” 

44 Come on, then,” said Harry Moore, 
44 for I’ve got to be home at nine sharp.” 

44 And so have we,” said the Goodwins. 

Nine o’clock came all too soon, or rather 
the quarter before, when the start had to be 
made. Nan and Martha went out on the 
gallery to see them off, their figures becom- 
ing gradually instinct in the cool summer 
darkness, full of sweet scents. A straggling 
moon was barely rising above the tallest trees. 


30 The Country House on the Moor. 

“To light the wayfarers home/’ said Nan. 

“ What is wayfarers ?” asked Martha. 

“ A word I saw in a book,” answered Nan. 

” What does it mean ?” asked Martha. 

44 I think it means people who are going 
somewhere,” said Nan. 

” It sounds rather funny,” said Martha, 
” but a good many words do.” 

44 I’m tired,” said Nan. 

44 And Charlie was just falling asleep in 
his chair,” said Martha; “so now that the 
party’s over, I think we’d better go to bed.” 


CHAPTER III. 

THE COUNTRY HOUSE ON THE MOOR. 

44 Remember, Charlie,” said Nan, “ we 
are going away to our country house up on 
the moor this afternoon.” 

“ We have no country house except this,” 
said Charlie, who was sometimes obstinately 
practical. 

44 The child ! as if he didn’t know it was a 
pretending one,” said Nan. 


The Country House on the Moor . 3 1 

The moor was a bleak, stubble field at a 
considerable distance from the children’s 
home, and on a slope overlooking the town. 
It was skirted by a thick grove of fir-trees, 
and in this grove was a deserted house, at 
once the terror and delight of neighboring 
children. 

Nan planned all preparations for the expe- 
dition as systematically as if she were called 
upon to take a journey in earnest. Charlie 
was an invalid gentleman, who travelled in 
his private carriage. Martha was coachman 
and attendant to the gentleman, Nan was his 
housekeeper, as old Mary was to papa, and 
was also general supervisor. 

The board walk along which Martha duti- 
fully wheeled the carriage was the high road, 
from which their way lay through fields. 
They stopped as they went to pick daisies or 
dandelions, waifs which had strayed in among 
bristling shrubs, and the tiny clusters of 
pink-tinted waxen bells, in which Nan always 
professed to hear fairy music. Perhaps she 
did, for the fairies and all the voices of nature 
speak best to some ears. The country house, 
so called, was an open space on the outskirts 


32 


The Country House on the Moor. 


of the fir grove, shaded by some straggling 
trees, where a rock or two made seats to sit 
upon. Nan said their nearest neighbors were 
Harry Moore and Willie Slocum, two rich 
gentlemen, who had rented a place for the 
summer, while the Goodwin girls were two 
old maids who lived a little farther down on 
" Fir-tree Avenue." It was always Nan 
who planned all their plays, the others carry- 
ing out her directions. 

On this particular afternoon they met, and 
solemnly devoured a luncheon of big, round 
ginger cakes, procured from the village 
grocery, and cut into pieces with much cere- 
mony. 

“ I got some tarts," said Harry Moore, un- 
wrapping a rather greasy parcel, which he 
had been carefully carrying. 

Nan and Martha exchanged glances as 
Harry laid them down on the moss-covered 
bowlder, which served for table and dish at 
once. 

“ Take one, Nan." 

“ No, thank you," said Nan. 

"Hello! what’s up ?" cried Harry in as- 
tonishment. "You have one, Martha?" 


The Country House on the Moor, 33 

No, thanks, ” said Martha shyly, turning 
away her head in some confusion at being so 
directly addressed. 

Well, if that ain’t a go !” said Harry. 

Why won’t you eat the tarts, when I ate 
your old ginger cakes ?” 

Because papa doesn’t want us to eat 
pastry, ” said Nan ; ‘ ‘ so, of course, we can't. ’ ’ 

But he won’t know anything about it. 
Who’s going to tell. I’d like to know ?” 

Martha’s eyes opened very wide at this, 
and Nan, transfixing the culprit with her 
honest brown eyes, answered : 

“ That’s just why it would be so mean to 
do it behind his back.” 

” Oh, bosh !” said Harry. “ Look here, 
Martha, you take one,” and he tried to force 
it into her hand. “ It’s all rubbish your gov- 
ernor not wanting you to eat things.” 

Martha resisted the attempt to force the 
forbidden dainty upon her, and shook her 
head till her long, brown curls fell down and 
covered her face. 

“ You eat a tart, Charlie?” said Harry, 
vexed at his want of success. “You ain’t 
afraid, like these two duffers of girls.” 


34 


The Country House on the Moor. 


“ It isn’t being afraid, Harry Moore,” said 
Nan ; “ it’s dishonorable, that’s all.” 

Charlie had visibly weakened at sight of 
the shells of pastry filled with cocoanut or 
jam, but he tried to brace himself up, espe- 
cially when he heard what Nan said. 

” We’re not allowed to eat those,” he said, 
trying to speak bravely. 

” Harry Moore, if you try to make us do 
what we’re told not to, we’ll all go home,” 
said Nan decisively. 

So the tarts were left to the disposal of 
Harry Moore and Willie Slocum, the Good- 
win girls having a share. They were not 
forbidden to eat tarts, if they wanted, they 
said. 

It cannot be denied that Charlie cast many 
wistful glances in their direction. 

“ It’s brave not to eat tarts,” he said to 
Martha — “ almost as brave as being a soldier.” 

Soldiers don’t care much for tarts, per- 
haps,” said Martha in a whisper. 

He means it’s brave to do without them,” 
said Nan ; “ so it is.” 

Harry Moore, who was annoyed at the 
children’s refusal to eat his tarts, was glad 


The Country House on the Moor. 35 

of a chance to say something disagreeable to 
Nan. 

She and the Goodwins were talking about 
a procession that had been in the church on 
the Assumption, the girls all wearing white 
dresses and veils and blue sashes. 

Oh, religion !" said Harry. “ It’s good 
enough for girls, but it makes a muff of a 
man.” 

Nan was speechless for a moment, while 
Charlie demanded of Martha : 

“ Martha, what is a muff ? Is it that round 
fur thing you put your hands in when it’s 
cold ?” 

“ I think so,” whispered Martha. 

“ Well, how could they make a muff out 
of a man ?” and he chuckled at the thought. 

“ Harry/' said Nan, “ my papa says that 
religion makes a man or woman good and 
brave and noble and able to do lots of 
things." 

“ And you people pray to the Virgin 
Mary," said Harry. “Our minister says 
folks have no business to pray to her or make 
such a fuss about her. She’s only a woman 
like anybody else." 


36 The Country House on the Moor . 

“ You don’t like Holy Mary !” said little 
Martha, her face aflame ; “ but if you go to 
heaven you’ll see her there, because she’s 
God’s Mother.” 

This was poor little Martha’s only con- 
tribution to the discussion of the afternoon, 
and somehow it had more effect on the big 
boy than the arguments which Nan ad- 
vanced. Perhaps it was a truth put in a new 
light. He had never thought of it that way ; 
besides Nan presently set down her foot : 

‘ ‘ If papa knew that you talked like that, 
Harry Moore, he wouldn’t let you play with 
us ; and he says children have no business 
disputing about religion.” 

Peace being finally restored, the “ two 
gentlemen” and the “ old maids” went home 
for a while, Nan, Martha, and Charlie being 
invited over to the latter’s house in return. 

On this occasion, a very slight refresh- 
ment of a stick of chocolate each being offered 
and accepted, Nan was called upon for a 
story. She repeated to them a true story, 
which her father had told her of a missionary 
being martyred by the Indians. Nan could 
tell a story well. The others were worked 


The Country House on the Moor . 


37 


up to a pitch of excitement when she wound 
up with an account of the Indian chief, with 
the medicine-man, and some of the warriors 
sticking morsels of wood into the mission- 
ary’s flesh and lighting them. Poor little 
Martha shivered when she heard of such 
doings. 

“ I’d just have given that Indian chief a 
kick,” cried Charlie, sending one of his tiny 
shoes up into the air, which Martha quickly 
caught and put on him again. 

“ That medicine-man is a bigger wretch,” 
said Willie Slocum. ” I’d like to” — and he 
clenched his fists. 

” The priest was a plucky one,” said 
Harry, “ even if he was a Romanist.” 

“ What’s a Romanist?” inquired Nan. 

“ People that go to Father McNally’s 
church,” answered Harry. 

** Oh, you mean Catholics,” said Nan. ” I 
wondered. ” 

Each one had much to say about what he 
or she would have done as a missionary or a 
bystander. Charlie’s anger broke out against 
those ” horrible savages but he gave final 
vent to his feelings bv crying out : 


3 « 


The Country House on the Moor . 


“ I want to be a missionary.” 

” You a missionary, youngster?” said 
Harry Moore. “ Look here, Willie, this lit- 
tle chap wants to be a missionary.” 

“ Well, what if he does?” put in Martha, 
resenting the boy’s jeering tone. 

“ You’re a pair, you are,” said Harry, 
looking from one to the other of them. 

“ Let those children alone,” said Nan. 
“ You’re very tiresome to-day, Harry ; but 
if you tease them you’ll have to go home.” 

“I will,” said Nan resolutely, “or if I 
can’t we’ll go.” 

Harry muttered something, but Willie 
Slocum took off his attention by inviting him 
to climb a tree in search of chipmunks. 

So the girls and Charlie sat quietly talking, 
while the boys pursued their rougher sports. 
It was a beautiful view which spread out be- 
fore them — Woodville, with its half dozen 
shaded streets, its lily-pond, its four churches, 
upon the roofs of which the sun shone and 
the pigeons cooed. There was ” the big 
house,” square like a meeting-house almost, 
with broad, pillared veranda, which had 
stood there since before the Revolution. It 


The Adventure on the Moor. 


39 


rejoiced in the high-sounding name of 
“ Brakenbridge Hall.” The air on this gen- 
tle slope was fresh and bracing, giving the 
bloom of health to the children’s cheeks and 
tossing their hair about. No wonder they 
loved what they themselves called ‘ ‘ the 
moor,” and made their pretending “ home” 
there. 


CHAPTER IV. 

THE ADVENTURE ON THE MOOR. 

The children were so occupied with their 
play that they did not perceive how black 
the sky had grown, nor how the wind went 
moaning through the firs. All at once the 
big drops began to fall, and there was a 
rumble of thunder in the distance. The chil- 
dren, starting up, looked at each other in 
affright. 

44 What are we to do ?” said Willie Slocum. 

44 I guess we’d better run for it,” said 
Harry Moore. 

44 We can’t run with Charlie,” said Nan ; 


40 The Adventure on the Moor , 

“ and 1 don’t believe Martha could, anyway ; 
besides none of us could get home now with- 
out being drenched and perhaps struck by 
lightning." 

" We can’t stand here and get soaked," 
grumbled Harry. 

“ Well, you go home if you like ; we’ll go 
into the deserted house." 

Nan’s voice quavered a little as she turned 
her eyes upon the four gray walls, already 
darkened by the rain, the overhanging roof, 
and the broken windows. 

There was silence. Sometimes on bright, 
sunshiny mornings the children had ventured 
in, but then the light had streamed after 
them through door and window, like some 
blessed spirit, protecting and giving them 
courage. Now the sky was black and it was 
afternoon. 

Still in nearly all children there is a love 
of what is mysterious, and they are attracted 
by what is terrible. 

" We must go in," said Nan, for the rain 
was coming down in blinding sheets, and the 
jagged streaks of forked lightning were fol- 
lowed closely by crashes of thunder. 


The Adventure on the Moor. 


4i 


It was Nan who pushed open the door and 
helped Martha to drive Charlie’s carriage 
over the threshold. The room in which they 
found themselves was, indeed, a dismal spot, 
the floor covered with layers and layers of 
dust, some of which had been changed into 
mud by splashes of rain. Cobwebs hung in 
festoons on the walls and windows. Through 
the broken panes of glass still lingering the 
rain dashed furiously in, and the wind rushed 
howling. A doorway stood open, and Nan 
urged the others forward. 

“ Perhaps it won’* be so wet in there,” she 
whispered. 

No one would have spoken aloud for 
worlds. She was right. The windows were 
whole and the floor dry. The children drew 
close together around Charlie’s carriage, 
their faces pale, their eyes wide open with 
terror, for crash after crash sounded, as if 
the world were going to pieces ; and the light- 
ning was blinding. 

“ It’s like a robber’s den,” said Nan under 
her breath. 

“ It’s ghostly,” croaked Martha, her voice 
hoarse with emotion. 


42 


The Adventure on the Moor. 


“ If the lightning should strike us ?” cried 
Willie Slocum. 

The Goodwins were already in tears, their 
teeth chattering audibly. 

“ We’re so afraid ! Oh, we we’re so 
afraid !” they sobbed. 

Somehow they all looked to Nan for cour- 
age, she was so brave, they knew. She 
stood with her head erect, her eyes very 
wide open, and her nostrils dilated. One 
would have thought she was defying the ele- 
ments. 

M I’m saying a prayer to Holy Mary,” said 
Martha. 

Pale and trembling, she had her arm around 
Charlie, whose curly head had fallen upon 
her shoulder as he sobbed out : 

” Oh, Martha, take me home.'* 

He seemed to think Martha could do any- 
thing where he was concerned. She tried to 
keep up his courage. 

Holy Mary and our good angels won’t 
let us be hurt,” said Martha. 

“ No,” added Nan ; ” Father McNally told 
us that God had given His angels charge 
of us.” 


The Adventure on the Moor. 


43 


“ I wish I could see mine,” wailed Charlie ; 
” I wish he didn't let it get so dark.” 

Harry Moore and Willie Slocum looked 
wonderingly at these children. They could 
scarcely understand what they were talking 
about. They didn’t know anything about 
angels, and at another time Harry Moore 
would have scoffed at the idea ; but just now 
he would like to have believed it. It was a 
comforting thought that there might be 
strong and powerful spirits hovering near 
with outstretched wings. The courage of 
all was to be put to a still greater test. In 
one of the pauses of the storm they heard 
ominous sounds in the stillness, the crack- 
ling of branches and the tread of feet with- 
out. 

Involuntarily all drew closer together, 
Nan in the foreground, her head thrown 
back, her eyes fixed upon the open doorway. 
That moment of suspense was fearful. They 
knew not what sight might meet their eyes. 
The steps drew nearer ; they seemed to hear 
voices. More terrible than the darkness, 
more awful than the lightning and thunder, 
they saw, at last, crossing the threshold of the 


44 


The Adventure on the Moor. 


outer room, two men of the type known as 
tramps. The lightning showed the familiar 
slouch, the battered hats, the ragged clothing. 
Tramps ! There was a sudden holding of 
the children’s breaths. Even fearless Nan 
felt her heart stand still 

Here were they, a mile and a half at least 
from civilization, in a deserted house sur- 
rounded by woods, with tramps between 
them and the outer door, and a storm raging 
outside. They could not get out of the 
house without passing the tramps, and even 
had it been possible, they dared not bring 
Charlie out to brave the elements. 

The tramps advanced into the outer room, 
the weight of their clod-heeled boots making 
the floors of the two rooms creak. With one 
accord all the children sank down on the 
floor, Martha kneeling beside the carriage, 
patiently holding Charlie in her arms and 
trying to stifle his sobs, lest those terrible 
men should hear. His weak arms were 
clasped close around his sister’s neck. 

Poor little man, pathetically brave in im- 
agination, when the story of great deeds was 
told, he could not face actual terrors. Mar- 


The Adventure on the Moor . 45 

tha checked her own tears, and tried to stop 
her chattering teeth. 

“ Holy Mary will take care of us, Charlie, 
and our good angels ; they will ask God,” 
she said in a faint whisper. 

Nan crouched before these two. Her atti- 
tude said plainly that none should approach 
while she could prevent them. Harry Moore 
and Willie Slocum collapsed altogether, and 
were in a state of abject terror, while the 
Goodwin girls clung to Nan’s dress, and, 
hearing her saying the Rosary under her 
breath, began to say it, too. 

Meanwhile, the two men seemed to make 
up their minds that the outer room was good 
enough for them, and threw themselves down 
in one corner of it, talking a strange jargon, 
very little of which the children understood. 

Harry Moore said they were cursing. No 
doubt they were, and the name of God was 
being taken in a very different way from that in 
which Nan and Martha were using it close by. 

” I’m gittin’ tired of this hog’s pen,” the 
children heard one man saying, “ and I’m 
gittin’ blasted wet, too. What’s the other 
room like ? Let’s see.” 


46 


The Adventure on the Moor. 


They heard him gathering himself up for 
a move, 

“ Harry Moore, don’t you know any pray- 
ers ?” said Nan in a whisper. 

44 He’ll come in here and kill us,” said 
Harry Moore. 

44 God won’t let him,” said Nan firmly. 
44 Say the 4 Our Father,’ Harry — say any 
prayer.” 

Harry’s “folks” hadn’t taught him any. 
His father didn’t believe in anything, and his 
mother was too busy. 

44 I can’t. Nan,” he said. 44 You pray for 
us all.” 

4 4 Stop where you are,” they heard the 
other tramp say. 44 We’ve got to bolt it 
when this cussed storm’s over — the quicker 
the better.” 

44 1 thought I heerd some one speak,” the 
other said again. 

The answer to this was a fearful oath and 
a laugh which made the children’s blood run 
cold. 

44 Mebbe you’re gittin’ religious, and thinks 
you’re a-heerin’ sperrits ; but the only sper- 
rits as I know, I gits down to Sammy’s bar.” 


The Adventure on the Moor. 47 

’Tain’t no sperrits I was talkin' about," 
said the other feebly. 

“ You be blowed, then, and don't be dis- 
turbin’ of me with any more of your gas.” 

For a few moments it almost seemed as if 
a quarrel were impending between the two 
men, so awful was the language they began 
to use towards each other, while Nan and 
Martha prayed, and the others joined in in 
the simple confidence of the faith that had 
been so early put into their hearts. 

All at once the more restless of the two 
men, in spite of his companion’s grumbling, 
arose and began to slouch towards the door 
of the inner room. His dark figure seemed 
gigantic in the gloom ; his evil face was 
shown to the children like that of some dark 
spirit by a flash of lightning. He stood, as 
if lost in amazement, gazing stupidly at the 
children and hearing Nan’s whispered voice 
saying the prayers which he, God help him ! 
had once learned. It took him a minute or 
two to grasp the full meaning of the scene. 
His better nature awoke from its long sleep. 
With a gesture as of warning to the children 
he shuffled out again. 


48 The Adventure on the Moor . 

“ That hole in there’s a darned sight worse 
than this one.” 

“ Then stop your blowin’ and keep quiet 
here !” growled the other. 

The children, though they scarcely realized 
it at the moment, had found a protector. He 
was full of anxiety lest his comrade should 
discover that they were there, and might 
seek to harm them for the mere value of the 
clothes they wore. He knew well that no 
tender memory could ever touch the brutal 
nature of his comrade, for there had never 
been a time in that life when any one had 
spoken to him of another world or of the 
God who made this one. 

Scarcely had the storm abated and the rain 
ceased its heaviest downpour when the 
tramp who had become the children’s friend 
said to the other : 

” Let’s git ; the storm’s about over, and 
some blokes might be a-pokin’ their noses 
around here. There are some as might be 
glad to find us for that last little matter down 
to Brooklavvn.” 

So they arose and shuffled off. The chil- 
dren could scarce believe that they were 


The Ball of the Flowers . 


49 


really gone, and they feared to venture forth 
for some time, even after the storm was over. 
But at last they went out. A magnificent 
sky of gold, flashing out through the clouds, 
met their eyes. The trees seemed new 
washed in the heaven-sent showers, and the 
grass bright green, almost as it might have 
been in spring. But the children never knew 
that they had awakened spring in a heart 
long frosted over, and that a human soul was 
brought back to grace, a man to an honest 
life, by their simple prayer in the ruined 
house upon the moor. 


CHAPTER V. 

THE BALL OF THE FLOWERS. 

The children were up very early that fine 
morning. 

“ Not quite so early as on Easter Sunday,” 
said Nan, “ when we got up to see if the sun 
danced. 1 don’t think it does. Anyway, we 
didn’t see it. ” 


50 The Ball of the Flowers . 

‘ ‘ If the sun could dance, it would be very 
funny,’ ' said Charlie, and 'he laughed his 
queer, little chuckling laugh. “ He might 
look as if he were tipsy.” 

They went out into the fresh, cool air, 
when the dew was still on the grass and 
flowers, and took a ramble down through 
green lanes, while Mary was preparing their 
breakfast. The sky was a very bright blue 
that morning, not a solitary cloud on its sur- 
face, and the gold of the sun was soft and 
bright. Later in the day it would be fiery 
and scorching. 

” 1 think we might have a flower-party to- 
day,” said Nan. “ Do you think it would be 
nice ?” 

“ 1 don’t know what it is,” said Martha. 

” Well, we’ll just invite flowers of all kinds 
to a ball.” 

” A ball ?” said Martha, astonished. 

“ Yes ; I’m trying to think where would 
be best to have it. Perhaps in the glass- 
room.” 

The summer-house might be nicer,” said 
Martha. 

” There’s not much room,” said Nan. 


The Ball of the Flowers . 


5i 


“ We could take out the table/' said Mar- 
tha, “ and we might cover the floor with 
leaves and moss." 

“ But flowers can’t walk,” said Charlie ; 
“ they can’t come if we invite them.” 

Nan looked contemptuously at the speaker. 
“As if we expected them to walk, little 
goose ! We’ll go and get them.” 

Martha looked sympathetically at Charlie, 
but said nothing. When the Goodwins heard 
of the project they were delighted, but Harry 
Moore laughed so loudly at the plan that 
Willie Slocum was ashamed to applaud it. 
Still, by the time the afternoon came they, 
too, were busy bringing in wild flowers of 
every color and kind. Nan and the Good- 
wins were to collect as many garden flowers 
as they could from their own gardens or the 
neighbors. 

“ Martha could help in that,” said Nan ; 
“ but she’s too shy, she won’t ask.” 

“ I couldn’t ask strange people for flow- 
ers,” said Martha. 

“ Mrs. Wills isn’t strange, or Mr. Jenkins, 
or the one they call ‘ Long Sam,’ or Esther 
Perkins.” 


52 


The Ball of the Flowers. 


“ I couldn’t,” said Martha. 

” Well, I’m rather ashamed, too,” con- 
fessed Nan, ” but still 1 do it. Edith told 
some of them it was for a ball, and they all 
laughed.” 

“Of course,” said Edith Goodwin, “the 
garden flowers might think the wild ones too 
common to come to the same ball.” 

” 1 don’t think any flower is really com- 
mon,” said Nan ; “ and then, perhaps, flow- 
ers are nicer than people, and don’t mind 
poorer clothes.” 

It was quite afternoon when the arrange- 
ments were all complete. The summer- 
house was converted into a fairy bower with 
wild clematis and vines of all sorts, the floor 
thickly strewn with moss and leaves. In the 
corner acorn cups and the children’s very 
smallest tea-sets were set out, with some tiny 
knives and forks and spoons. 

“ They won’t eat anything, of course,” said 
Nan, with a laugh, “ but we must pretend to 
have a supper. There’s always a supper at 
balls.” 

” And music,” said Martha. 

“Yes, music,” said Nan. “You might, 


The Ball of the Flowers. 


53 


perhaps, play the shepherd’s pipe, Willie 
Slocum, and Martha could grind that little 
musical toy Charlie got on his birthday.” 

“ No, I’ll play it,” cried Charlie. 

” Yes, and stop just when the ball is going 
to begin.” 

“ Maybe he won’t,” said Martha. 

” Well, then, let him try ; and Harry Moore 
can spin his musical top, and, Edith, you can 
play the Mecklephon, and Mary could blow 
one of those birds in water. It sounds well.” 

” I’d rather play the jew’s-harp,” said 
Harry. 

“ Oh, it’s perfectly horrible!” said Nan ; 
” it would spoil all the rest. We can all sing 
besides, and that will be music enough.” 

So all things being prepared for their re- 
ception, the flowers came to the ball. 

“ The rose is queen,” said Nan, showing a 
superb crimson one ; “ she has a ruby satin 
dress — two shades — on.” 

“ Here’s a yellow one,” said Martha. 

” Dressed in gold brocade, and that little 
white one is just coming out. That poppy’s 
a lady from the country.” 

“ She’s Mrs. Wills, ’’said Martha, and there 


54 


The Ball of the Flowers. 


was a general laugh, for Mrs. Wills was a 
very full-blown farmer’s wife in the neigh- 
borhood. 

“ And who’s that ?” cried Charlie. 

“That carnation? Oh. there's a lot of 
them came. They’re soldiers from England. 

" We don’t want any soldiers from Eng- 
land !*’ cried Harry Moore fiercely. 

“ Oh, at a ball it doesn’t matter where 
they come from,” said Nan ; “ they’re only 
flower soldiers.” 

“And those phlox?” asked Mary Good* 
win. 

“ They’re farmers’ wives and daughters, 
and the mulleins are working people.” 

“ Working people don’t go to balls, I don’t 
think,” said Mary. 

“ To some balls they do,” said Nan. 

The pansies rather puzzled her. 

“ They might be people in second mourn- 
ing, or maybe they’re kings,” said Martha— 
“ kings have purple on in pictures.” 

“ They’re rather small for kings,” Nan 
said thoughtfully. 

Charlie was deeply absorbed in the arrange- 
ments, so that he hadn’t a word to say. 


The Ball of the Flowers. 


55 


“ That lily is like an angel,” said Nan. 

“Angels don’t go to balls,” said Martha 
in a hushed, rather awe-stricken voice. 

“ Perhaps it isn’t right to play they do,’’ 
said Nan. 

“ Probably it isn’t,” said Martha, who 
sometimes used this big word, which she 
couldn’t well pronounce. 

“ Well, the lily’s a bride, then,” said Nan, 
“ and those dandelions are just waiters, and 
the golden-rod are tall gentlemen with gold 
lace on, and the bluebells are ladies in blue 
silk dresses.” 

“ Tell us about the others, Nan,” cried the 
Goodwins, while Willie Slocum, who was 
out helping Harry Moore to shy stones at a 
couple of calves in the neighboring farm- 
yard, deserted his leader and drew near. 
Harry’s whistle of affected indifference 
ceased, too, and it was plain that he was 
listening. 

“ The mignonettes are just dear little 
fairies, who have slipped in, and most of the 
people don’t see them, but they are whisper- 
ing to the heliotropes, who are some children 
that have been let in.” 


56 The Ball of the Flowers. 

“Who are the violets?” Edith Goodwin 
asked. 

“ Well, I think they are just shy people.” 

“ Like our friend Martha,” said Harry 
Moore from without. 

44 Rather plainly dressed, and I don’t think 
they care to dance much,” pursued Nan. 

“They’re so sweet!” said Mary Good- 
win. 

“ Perhaps at a ball people don’t care so 
much about that,” said Nan; “and they 
might look shabby near the roses and things. ” 

4 4 Who’s that big sunflower ?” 

44 1 think that’s the mayor or the governor 
of the State, and those dark blue flowers 
are ” 

44 Policemen, ” put in Charlie. 

44 As if policemen were at balls !” 

44 To bring out robbers,” argued Charlie. 

44 Such a boy ! They are soldiers from the 
army who went to fight Sitting Bull.” 

44 He’s dead,” said Willie Slocum. 

44 They’re back after killing him,” said 
Nan. 

44 I’d like to fight Indians,” said Charlie. 

44 And get scalped,” said Harry Moore. 


The Ball of the Flowers. 


57 


14 I wouldn’t get scalped,” said Charlie 
wrathfully ; “ I’d runaway.” 

The boys set up a shout. All except Mar- 
tha laughed. 

” You’d make a fine soldier,” said Harry. 

” P’raps if he was a soldier he wouldn’t 
run away,” said Martha. 

“ But then I’d get scalped,” said Charlie, 
turning a reproachful glance on his sister. 

” Soldier, indeed !” said Nan. “ I think 
you’re afraid of your shadow.” 

” I ain’t,” said Charlie. 

” Now let the music begin,” said Nan. 
” Those rich Marigolds are giving the ball, 
and the Miss Candytufts and Miss Marguerite 
Daisy are helping them.” 

So the ball began, fast and furious, with 
the various kinds of music suggested by Nan. 

” They are all dancing now,” she said — 
” all that can get partners.” 

And presently she proposed a chorus of 
“ Fairies, fairies, ever go, where the moun- 
tain torrents flow.” 

‘ ‘ Do you believe there are fairies, Nan?” 
asked Edith Goodwin. 

” No ; I used to when I was little.” 


53 


The Ball of the Flowers. 


“ There are fairies,” said Charlie; “they 
live in the green hills/’ 

“ 1 wish there were fairies/’ said Martha, 
with a plaintive note in her voice. 

“ Don’t you remember, Martha’’ — turning 
earnestly towards her — “ those fairies that 
little John saw when he went down in the 
earth? They had gold and things — what 
things, Martha?’’ 

He knit his brows as he asked, trying to 
solve the puzzle. 

“ Oh, lots of things,’’ said Martha ; “ but 
then they weren’t true. It was just like Nan 
pretending the flowers are ladies and gentle- 
men.” 

A pitiful look came into Charlie’s face, for 
a light fades from the sky of our youth when 
we no longer believe in fairies. 

“There are fairies; 1 know there are,” 
sobbed Charlie. 

Martha was almost sorry she had spoken, 
and Willie Slocum offered Charlie consolation 
in the shape of half a molasses stick ; but 
Nan spoke up promptly : 

“ When a thing isn’t true, it isn’t ; that’s 
why we can’t tell lies.” 


The Ball of the Flowers, 


59 


“ Lots of people do/’ said Harry Moore. 

“Do they?” said Nan. “Well, no one 
can be brave or good that does. It’s so 
mean. Even Martha wouldn’t tell a lie for 
the world, would you, Martha?” 

Martha emphatically shook her head. 
Those looking on knew very well that neither 
fearless Nan nor timid Martha were ever 
guilty of that meanness. Little Martha was 
only afraid that she might accidentally tell a 
lie. Charlie was being trained daily by word 
and example to the same truthfulness. 

“ Boys that tell lies”— Nan made expres- 
sive gestures and laughed, as much as to say 
that they were hopeless. 

“ Besides it’s a sin,” said Nan, “and we 
would have to tell it in confession.” 

‘ ‘ I don % t believe in confession, ’ ’ said Harry. 

“ Even if you don’t,” said Nan, “ it’s 
there anyway, and God made it.” 

She was busy making the tallest roses bow 
to each other, and she said presently : 

" It’s getting late. The lily has got an 
acorn full of lemonade spilled over her white 
dress, and the ladies are all so tired they are 
bending to the very ground, and that old 


6o 


The Ball of the Flowers . 


withered one is drinking lots of coffee ; so 
let the music play all at once for 4 Good- 
night.' ” 

“What shall we do now?” said Harry 
Moore, when that ceremony had been gone 
through with. 

“ We’re going to make a visit at the 
church,” said Nan, 44 because if we don’t, it 
will be too late.” 

44 I hate girls that ?re always going to 
church.” 

” Do you ?” said Nan. 

44 They’re always stupid.” 

“Are they?” inquired Nan, putting her 
head on one side, a way she had when she 
was thinking. 

44 Come, Martha, let us hurry ; we weren’t 
at Mass this morning.” 

44 We’ll go, too,” said Willie Slocum. 
44 Come on, Harry.” 

44 I won’t ; I ain’t a Romanist.” 

Nan and Martha went into the house to 
get ready themselves and make Charlie ready. 

44 I guess I’ll go, after all.” 

44 If you do,” said Nan, 44 you must behave 
yourself in the church, because God is there.” 


The Ball of the Flowers. 61 

Harry was inclined to kick at Nan’s com- 
manding tone, but a compromise was effect- 
ed, and they went on. The dusk was falling 
when they entered the church, which was 
full of the smell of fresh flowers. A glory 
fell over the picture on the altar, 4 ‘ Christ 
Blessing the Little Ones,” and rays of color 
darted from the windows, making stains of 
red and purple and gold upon the floor, and 
touching the pale face of the Virgin Mother 
where she stood holding the divine Infant. 

The children having said their simple 
prayers, came out. 

44 I think God is a king,” said Charlie; 
“ He had a crown on in the picture.” 

44 It was the sun,” said Martha ; 44 it just 
made a crown for Him.” 

44 Yes,” said Nan, 44 shining all round His 
head.” 

44 I wonder why God said that heaven was 
like children?” said Martha. 44 Children are 
a good deal badder than big people.” 

44 Yes,” said Nan ; 44 children fight some- 
times and pinch each other. I pinched you 
twice, 1 think, last week.” 

44 Not very hard,” said Martha; 44 but 


62 A Wet Afternoon. 

once I shook Charlie. I’m sorry I did, he’s 
so little.” 

Harry Moore and Willie Slocum were en- 
gaged in a favorite amusement of turning 
somersaults, and Nan proposed that when 
they got home they should all have a game 
of “ tag.” 

She ran up a hill that came in their way, 
and down again, the exercise sending the 
blood into her tanned cheeks. Then she 
went to relieve Martha, and give her a 
chance to repeat the operation. Martha 
took hands with the Goodwins for the race, 
her curls falling in a shower around her, her 
little face aglow, and a laugh overspreading 
it like a sunbeam. 


CHAPTER VI. 

A WET AFTERNOON. 

Nan had to spend part of every day now 
in summer, when she had no other lessons, 
learning to cook and sew. Even Martha’s 
deft little fingers were beginning to run up 


A Wet Afternoon. 63 

seams and to hem, under old Mary’s skilful 
guidance. Mary had kept house for Nan’s fa- 
ther ever since her mother’s death, which oc- 
curred when Nan was little more than a baby. 

“ I can just remember her a tiny bit,” said 
Nan to Mary,- as they sat near the grate-fire 
which had been lighted in the sitting room, 
for a mist hung over the landscape, and the 
earth was soaked with a steady rain. Rain at 
Woodville was generally a very serious mat- 
ter, and gave the village a very drenched 
appearance indeed. 

“ It’s wonderful if you do even that same, ” 
said Mary, in answer to Nan’s remark, ” for 
you had hardly put a foot under you when 
she died, God rest her soul.” 

” She was pretty, of course ?” Nan said. 

“ Mothers always is, I think,” said Martha. 

“ She had great blue eyes like a child’s, 
and skin like a peach,” said Mary. “ You 
favor your father, Miss Nan.” 

“Nobody remembers my mother,” said 
Martha plaintively, letting the unfinished 
seam fall, while her chin rested in her fat 
little hands. “ I don’t even remember her 
myself.” 


6 4 


A Wet Afternoon . 


“Lord love you, and it’d be hard for 
you,” said Mary — 44 you that were only two 
years old when God took her.” 

“ How did He take her?” asked Charlie. 
4 4 Did He just come with a crown, like in the 
picture, and make her go ?” 

44 What picture, honey ?” said Mary. 

44 The picture at the church,” answered 
Nan. 44 But God hadn’t a crown on ; it was 
just the sun. ” 

44 Don’t you remember, Martha,” said 
Charlie, 44 that day we went there He had a 
crown on ?” 

Martha didn’t dispute the point, but she, 
too, would like to understand just how God 
came for her mother. 

44 Quiet-like, one morning, I’ve heard them 
say,” said Mary, 4 ‘ God took her.” 

44 Did they see Him ?” asked Charlie. 

44 Such a crazy child !” cried Nan. 44 God 
is a spirit ; no one sees Him.” 

Then how do you know He took her?” 
persisted Charlie. 

44 Because she went, and they knew it was 
with God,” said Nan. 

Silence fell, only the splashing of the rain 


A Wet A f ter noon. 


65 


without and the crackling of the fire within, 
as the children pondered that great mystery 
which forever puzzles the wisest — death. 
Mary did not care to get upon these subjects 
with the children. They asked her such 
queer questions, and they had “ such heads 
on their shoulders,” as she said. 

“ Where’s our mother now?” asked Char- 
lie. 

” Sittin’ above in glory, 1 hope and pray,” 
answered Mary solemnly. 

Charlie looked up with an expectant air, 
and kept his head in that position, as if ex- 
pecting to see something. Even Martha cast 
a hasty look upward. 

“ If you go on well now with your work,” 
said Mary desperately, ” I’ll tell you a story 
while I knit, and I have a batch of cookies in 
the oven this minute that I’ll bring in piping 
hot.” 

“ It’s wet and dreary outside,” said Nan, 
with a glance at the window, “so it makes 
it more comfortable to have something nice 
at the fire.” 

Nan and Martha drew up their chairs, and 
Martha brought Charlie close to her to hear 


66 


A Wet Afternoon. 


the old woman’s tales, which were generally 
thrilling enough, even though ghosts were 
tabooed ; for if old Mary hadn’t, as she said, 
much of a head on her shoulders for book 
laming, she was full of the lore of her peo- 
ple and of the land whence she had come. 
Ruined castles, gintlemen’s coorts, fairy- 
haunted raths, hills where the good people 
dwelt, ould mills, where were found pots of 
gold, enchanted rivers with sands of gold or 
covering buried cities, seen at sunset by fisher- 
folk — all these things figured in her narratives. 

And if the imagination of the children was 
formed in this wise, far more than seemed 
possible their hearts were formed to virtue 
by her simple faith, her stories of saints and 
martyrs, and her high ideals of conduct. 
The children would ask her sometimes for a 
story of St. Patrick or St. Columba, and 
were even more deeply interested than in 
hearing how the O’Donoghue came up out 
of water on his milk-white steed, while the 
waves, golden in the dying light of day, 
leaped and danced about him ; or how the 
sea nymphs rose from the bed of the sea to 
play on harps of gold in the moonlight. 


A Wet Afternoon. 


67 


“ Saints’ stories are true,” said Nan, “ so 
we like them even better ; but still we like to 
hear the others, too.” 

Mary sometimes discoursed on the Danes, 
cruel pirates and sea robbers, who came over 
the ocean in silken-sailed vessels, and com- 
mitted crimes of every sort over the green 
surface of that island which adorns the 
western wave. In punishment of their mis- 
deeds, Mary averred that she had heard tell 
that they were sometimes turned into cats. 

Martha cast an involuntary glance of sus- 
picion at the sleek tabby who lay purring on 
the ground, and whispered to Charlie : 

” If that cat was a Dane ?” 

” It isn’t true, of course,” said Nan ; ” the 
people only thought so.” 

“ There’s no telling,” said old Mary, 
” how much truth and how much fable there 
is the world over ; but this has been told 
me, that my great-grandmother used to see 
the cat’s eyes shoot fire whenever she spoke 
ill of the Danes ; and her grandmother, 
again, heard a cat make use of human speech 
in a tongue she couldn’t understand.” 

” A cat talk !” and Nan’s blithe laugh rang 


68 


A Wet Afternoon. 


through the room. “ I don’t believe a cat 
ever said anything but 4 Meow ! meow ! ’ 
Did you, pussy ?” she added, taking the cat 
up and looking into her half-closed, gold- 
hued eyes. 

44 Well, there’s no use meddlin’ with what's 
beyond us,” said Mary -, 44 I’m only tellin’ 
you what was told to me in my childhood.” 

44 1 wish cats could speak,” said Charlie. 

The cat gave a squeak as if in answer. 

44 Do you hear that now ?” asked old Mary. 
44 Wasn’t that like a human bein’ answerin’ ?” 

44 It was because 1 pulled her tail,” said 
Nan. 

44 Why did you pull her tail ?” asked Mar- 
tha wrathfuliy. 

44 Just for fun, little ape,” said Nan, bend- 
ing her face till she almost touched Martha’s, 
and then throwing herself off the low chair 
in a very exuberance of mischief. 

44 Fie upon you, Miss Nan, to call the child 
by such a name !” said Mary. 

4 ’ 1 know who can talk, but he isn’t a 
Dane,” said Nan. 44 I’m going to let Jim 
out.” 

Nan rushed to the playroom door and 


A IV et Afternoon . 


69 


opened the parrot’s cage. He came, walk- 
ing majestically as usual, his bright green 
and red plumage glowing in the firelight. 

You cold, birdie?” he said, fixing his eye 
on Martha. 

“ No, precious bird,” said Martha. 

“You cold?” he repeated, sidling up to 
the fire. He stood before it on one foot, the 
other being muffled in his feathers, as if he 
really began to realize that it was cold. 

“ Go on with your work, Miss Nan,” said 
Mary ; “ you must get it finished before the 
cookies get cold.” 

Nan stretched herself ; she sometimes had 
a lazy fit. 

“ It’s so dark,” she said, “and 1 can’t 
work with that bird in the room.” 

“ Ah, then, who brought him into it, you 
rogue of the world?” said Mary, shaking 
her finger at Nan. 

“ All right. Good-by now,” said the bird, 
addressing Mary from his station on the 
floor, repeating still more fiercely, “ Good- 
by now — now !” 

“ Ah, then, good-by yourself for a heathen- 
ish creature,” said Mary. 


70 


A Wet Afternoon. 


44 It’s time to go/’ said the bird — “ it’s 
time to go.” 

44 He’s not right, Miss Nan,” said Mary ; 
44 sure it’s the cookies he wants me to go 
for.” 

44 I’ll tell my papa,” said the bird, in a sol- 
emn and warning tone. 

44 The Lord save us !” said Mary. ” It’s 
angry he is because 1 talked ill of him.” 

” Perhaps he’s a Dane,” said Martha. 

44 No, he ain’t,” said Charlie. 

44 Got any cold?” asked the parrot, ad- 
dressing old Mary in a conversational tone. 

44 Any what?” said Mary. 

44 He means ice-cream,” said Martha. “ He 
always calls it that.” 

44 Well, if that doesn’t beat all !” said Mary 
as she left the room, to return presently with 
a plateful of cookies, a jug of milk, and some 
glasses. 

44 Got any coffee ?” cried the bird as soon 
as he heard the clink of glasses. 44 Got a 
piece? Got a piece? You love me, birdie ?” 

44 Sing ‘ Home, Sweet Home,’ and we’ll 
give you some.” 

The bird, turning its shining head from 


A Wet Afternoon. 


7 1 


side to side, eying the company closely with 
its keen black eyes, began the first bars of 
the song. He gave to each word his pecul- 
iar pronunciation, changing suddenly with a 
shrill roulade into “ Tommy, get your hair 
cut, hair cut, hair cut.” 

Sometimes the bird exhausted its reper- 
tory of songs, sometimes he chose out two 
or three, arbitrarily rejecting the others. 

” For all the world like a Christian,” said 
old Mary. She had never got over her first 
distrustful wonder at the bird’s strange an- 
tics, as she called them, since it had arrived 
from town. It belonged to little Martha, to 
whom it had been given. Some time after 
her arrival at her uncle’s it had been brought 
thither, too. 

Jim partook, nothing loath, of a cookie 
which Martha carefully cooled for him. He 
held it in one claw, nibbling it and croaking 
out a peculiar note of satisfaction. Presently 
he was put back into his cage with shrill 
cries of, ” I hope you’re satisfied ! Good- 
by, little lover, good-by !” 

Nan had found out by frequent visits to 
door and window that the mist still covered 


72 


A Wet Afternoon. 


the hills, and the earth was still absorbing 
rain, which was running down from roof and 
gutter, and sweeping over the ground in 
that wholesale fashion in which rain in the 
country seems to disport itself. So she set- 
tled down at the fire and became herself the 
story-teller, for not only was old Mary 
wearied of the office, but she was obliged to 
bustle in and out of the kitchen in prepara- 
tion for the evening meal. 

So Nan began to tell about Father Mar- 
quette finding the Mississippi, of Paul Re- 
vere’s ride, of the Battle of Lexington, of 
William Penn and his Quakers in Pennsyl- 
vania, and of Charles Carroll, of Carrollton, 
signing the Declaration of Independence. 

44 Papa wants us to know the history of 
our own country well,” said Nan. 44 He 
says every one ought to.” 

44 It’s true for him," said old Mary ; while 
Martha and Charlie, who did not know much 
about the sentiment, liked the stories very 
much. Paul Revere’s ride especially ap- 
pealed to Charlie. He would like to have 
ridden forth at once on some such mission. 
Poor little hero ! to whom action was for- 


A Wet Afternoon. 


73 


ever to be denied, as his listeners, even Mar- 
tha, knew very well. All forbore to remind 
him of it, and Martha gave him an additional 
cookie, as she remembered that her little 
brother would never ride a horse, nor go to 
battle, nor down into the busy haunts of men. 
His battle would be one — of which she, poor, 
little soul, knew no more than he — of long, 
silent endurance and the thousand, thousand 
privations of enforced inaction. 

Just before it was quite dark Nan, rushing 
to the window, spied a rainbow ; and Martha, 
quickly putting Charlie into his carriage, 
drove him over to have a view of it. He 
clapped his hands for joy as he saw it span- 
ning the horizon. 

" I wonder," said Nan, “ if there’s really 
a pot of gold at the end of it ?” 

“ I don’t think so," said Martha. " If 
there was?" She turned to Charlie with the 
question, 

“ I wish we could get it," said Nan. 

“ I would rather have some of those nice 
colors," said Charlie. “ Oh, Martha, they’re 
just lovely !’’ 

Rainbow colors, Charlie, or pots of gold, 


74 


A Place of Mystery. 


equally unattainable, equally illusory. But 
happy you if that which is least material will 
satisfy you always ; happy if you prefer 
through life rainbow hues. 

There was no moralizer present, so these 
thoughts were not spoken ; only these young 
hearts watching with keen delight those 
glowing colors, and feeling a pang of disap- 
pointment when the brightness began to fade 
gradually. 

“ Still it ended the day nicely,” said Nan ; 
and she was right. Hope surmounting 
dreariness is a good ending for a day. 


CHAPTER VII. 

A PLACE OF MYSTERY. 

There was a place of mystery in the woods 
towards which the children’s minds turned 
very frequently. This was a hut, said to be 
in the centre of the thickest woods, in which 
dwelt an old woman. Some whispered that 
she was a hundred years old. 


A Place of Mystery . 


75 


“ But people don’t always know,” said 
Nan, “ especially as she has never spoken to 
any of them.” 

“ A hundred is very old,” said Martha, in 
a tone of awe. 

“ She must have been born just when the 
Revolutionary War was going on,” said 
Willie Slocum. ‘ ‘ It must have been queer 
being alive then.” 

“You bet !” said Harry Moore ; “ them 
were lively times.” 

Harry was always very careful as to his 
grammar. Willie Slocum would have been 
afraid to tell him so, and Nan didn’t like to. 

“ Say, Nan, wouldn’t you like to have a 
peep at the old witch ?” continued Harry. 

“ I would love to,” said Nan. 

“ Suppose we go some afternoon ?” 

“ Oh, I wouldn’t,” said Martha, shiver- 
ing. 

“ 1 want to go,” said Charlie. 

Now here was a difficulty indeed ; for going 
on such an errand, where there might be 
question of a very hasty retreat, Charlie’s 
carriage would be decidedly in the way. 

Nan tried the effect of bribery. 


76 


A Place of Mystery . 


“ If I let you have my new game will you 
stay at home ?” 

“ No,” screamed Charlie ; ”1 would 

rather see the witch.” 

So it appeared either that the expedition 
must be given up or that Charlie must go ; 
for Nan’s father was very strict in this mat- 
ter. Charlie must never be vexed nor slight- 
ed in any way. Besides, Martha would not 
go unless Charlie freely and willingly con- 
sented to stay at home. 

” Such a tiresome child !” said Nan. 
” He wants to go everywhere.” 

Well, if he does?” said Martha in de- 
fence ; “ and then he can’t walk or any- 
thing.” 

Nan said no more. This latter fact was 
an unanswerable argument. However, it 
chanced that Charlie was won over by some 
special bribe on old Mary’s part, and con- 
sented to stay at home. 

So the expedition was decided upon for 
that very day. 

“ See that you don’t stray too far off, nor 
get into any danger,” said Mary, “ and take 
the dog with you as a protection.” 


A Place of Mystery. 


77 


Duke had just returned after an absence of 
several days. His master, Nan’s father, had 
taken him with him on a visit to a relative. 
The 'children were delighted to see him back. 
He was a great favorite with them, and ac- 
companied them everywhere. He was a 
handsome and intelligent collie, devoted, 
after the manner of his race, to his little 
friends. 

It was a lovely clear day as the children 
set off. Summer was already taking on the 
hues of autumn. The sumach was showing 
itself in the woods, and a red leaf here and 
there among the branches spoke of the com- 
ing of Jack Frost. There was the faintest 
suspicion of a chill in the air, so that by old 
Mary’s advice Nan and Martha put stuff 
dresses on. Nan wore a dark-green plaid, 
trimmed with bows of red and a number of 
tiny red buttons on either shoulder. Martha 
had on a red-and-black check, trimmed with 
black velvet. Both girls wore wide hats to 
protect them from the sun. 

The Goodwin girls had cloth coats over 
their gingham frocks. Decidedly summer 
was going ; but its departure and the arrival 


78 


A Place of Mystery. 


of its successor were pleasant occasions in 
Woodville. The one went away so cheerily, 
leaving a delightful afterglow, and the other 
came in so gleefully, with crisp, sparkling 
days, bright suns, pleasant smells, turning 
leaves, and the bravery which its predecessor 
had bequeathed to it of late, rich-tinted flow- 
ers with more substantial gifts of waving 
grains and luscious fruits. 

Harry Moore was provided on this occa- 
sion with a stout stick with several notches. 
He used to count the notches boastfully. 
Willie Slocum contented himself with a more 
modest weapon, which, however, might be 
either offensive or defensive, for were they 
not going to meet unknown dangers ? 

44 We’ll deliver the country from a sorcer- 
ess,” said Nan ; “I mean we’ll pretend to do 
that.” 

Or get drawn into her den and eaten up; 
at least the rest of you will,” said Harry 
Moore, 44 and I’ll come in with my notched 
stick and get you out.” 

4 4 You mean you’d pretend to do that,” 
said Nan, laughing. “I don’t think you 
really would, Harry Moore.” 


A Place of Mystery. 


79 


Martha looked rather uneasy at the bare 
idea of the old woman’s den, still she reso- 
lutely set out with the rest. After the man- 
ner of children and some grown people, how- 
ever, they stirred up their imagination and 
excited their terror by recounting all the 
tales of horror connected with the supposed 
witch and her habitation. 

“ She changes into different shapes," said 
Harry Moore, who was extremely supersti- 
tious and always ready to believe anything 
except what came through a “ preacher." 
" First she changes into a young girl, and 
then, when it's getting dark, she flies out like 
an owl, and if any one is there then " 

He paused, nodding his head in a manner 
which said there wasn’t much hope for them. 

" I wonder if she does ?" said little Martha. 

" Of course, youngster," said Harry 
Moore ; " everybody says so." 

This was an awful thought, and Martha's 
heart began to sink lower and lower as they 
advanced in what they supposed to be the 
direction of the witch’s hut. Even Nan 
showed symptoms of nervousness, though 
she repeated over and over, perhaps to keep 


80 A Place of Mystery , 

up her own courage, that there might be no 
witch at all. 

“ People may only think so/’ she said. 
“ Even her hut may not be there at all.” 

This brought out a chorus of exclamations 
from the two boys and from the Goodwins. 
44 Long Sam” had seen her, and Joe Perkins 
had seen the hut, and Jabez Wilson had been 
chased. 

“ By whom ?” said Nan. 

44 He didn’t know,” said Harry. 44 I guess 
it was the owl.” 

44 Perhaps he just got afraid and ran,” said 
Nan. 

Still as the woods, unfamiliar depths into 
which they had never before ventured, began 
to darken more and more upon them, Nan’s 
frame of mind became less sceptical. The 
boys kept up their courage by striking about 
in all directions with their sticks, lopping off 
branches, scattering stones, stirring up heaps 
of last year’s leaves, to the discomfiture of 
sundry toads, ants, and crawling things of 
various descriptions. These manifestations, 
however, ceased as the way became darker 
and lonelier and more oppressive. Martha 


A Place of Mystery . 81 

held Nan’s hand, and was glad to feel Duke’s 
woolly nose pressed against her hand. 

Presently, however, Duke disappeared, 
and neither call nor whistle had any effect in 
bringing him again to their side. Besides, 
they grew afraid of being heard by some one. 

“ She’ll know we're coming, and be pre- 
pared for us,” said Nan. 

They had begun to talk in whispers by this 
time, expecting every moment that they 
might come upon the hut. But the wood 
stretched winding onward, turning in and 
out after the fashion of a labyrinth. Doubts, 
fears, regrets at having made the attempt to 
reach the witch at all began to crowd upon 
the children’s minds. By a common impulse 
they all stood still and held a council of war. 

“ We had better go back,” said Nan, 
“ even if we start early some morning and 
try it again. If we go on now it will be late 
when we get there, and she may be flying 
about like a bird and ” 

Nan did not finish. Her proposal was 
eagerly accepted, and a homeward start was 
made. But they had reckoned without their 
host, and found themselves in a confused 


82 


A Place of Mystery. 


tangle of wooded paths, with no clew as to 
their whereabouts. 

“We are lost !” cried Nan. 

“ Oh, Nan, what will we do?” said Mar- 
tha. 

“ I guess we’ll have to stay here all night,” 
said Harry Moore, half in terror, half in en- 
joyment of a night in the woods. 

“ Perhaps Duke could find the way,” said 
Willie Slocum. 

But that worthy animal was himself lost, 
or at least was out of sight and hearing, and 
possibly well on his way to Woodville by 
that time. Nan’s spirit rose to the occasion. 

“We will rest here a few minutes,” she 
said, “ and then try to find a path home.” 

This seemed to be the only thing to do, 
and they were all getting footsore and weary. 
So they settled themselves as comfortably as 
possible, grouped round a great oak which 
must have been standing, Nan said, “since 
the beginning of the world.” The path they 
were on seemed to be a wholly unfrequented 
one ; the trees met overhead, so that even the 
brightest sun had difficulty in passing there. 
Tangled undergrowth stretched under their 


A Place of Mystery. 


83 


feet, leaves had remained undisturbed, per- 
haps, for countless years. Darkness, silence, 
mystery were everywhere. 

As the children sat talking in whispers, 
glad of the rest, they heard all at once sounds 
in the thicket beyond them. 

“ Some one is coming,” said Nan, seizing 
Martha’s hand and involuntarily rising. 

They all held their breaths. A breaking 
twig, the starting of a squirrel, or the alarm- 
note of a bird, the rustle of leaves told too 
plainly that, in truth, some one was coming. 
If it should be the old woman of the hut, on 
foot or travelling overhead, as it was said 
she sometimes did, was the one thought in 
all the children’s minds. 

“ She’s not a bird, anyway,” said Nan un- 
der her breath to Harry Moore ; ” I hear 
her on the ground.” 

” She's stepping along with big steps,” 
said Martha, pausing between each word on 
account of her chattering teeth. 

“ She's stirring up leaves,” said Willie 
Slocum. 

” And breaking sticks,” said Harry Moore ; 
“ perhaps she’s making a fire to burn us.” 


8 4 


A Place of Mystery. 


This was an appalling suggestion. 

“ She’s sniffing," said Nan. “ Hear her?" 

It was true, and their hearts seemed to 
stand still as the sniffing or breathing or 
whatever it might be came every moment 
nearer. 

" I feel as if I would die," said Edith 
Goodwin. 

" Say a prayer !” gasped Nan. 

“ I am," whispered Martha. “ Oh, she’s 
coming ! Holy angel, don’t let her !" 

The breathing drew nearer. To the 
strained nerves of the hearers it had an awlul 
sound. There was a crash, and Duke bound- 
ed in among the children. There was a sigh 
of relief, and presently a burst of laughter, 
in which Duke seemed to join, wagging his 
tail and running from one to the other, 
barking. His joy at being restored to his 
friends showed itself in every possible man- 
ner. 

“ But you’re not so glad as we are, old 
Duke,’’ said Nan, throwing herself down, the 
better to converse with him. " VVe thought 
that you were a witch, and that you were 
gathering leaves and sticks to burn us." 


A Place of Mystery. 


85 


The dog licked her hand and looked into 
her face, as if he would like to have been 
sure what she was talking about. Nan was 
his special devotion, though he* seemed to 
have a protecting fondness for Martha and a 
tolerant sympathy for Charlie. 

“ You dear old Duke !" said Martha, com- 
ing up to pat the smooth top of his head. 

“ You're a fraud," said Harry Moore ; 
" I’d like to pull your tail and make you 
yelp." 

After the first sense of relief had passed 
the children began to realize that if the old 
witch had not actually come upon them, she 
might be anywhere near, and that, moreover, 
they were lost in the woods. 

Nan got resolutely upon her feet. 

“ We must get home somehow," she said 
briskly, “ and the sooner we start the bet- 
ter." 

So they set forth valiantly, Nan's well- 
proportioned, active figure in advance, the 
others following. Duke seemed to keep 
close to them, as if determined that there 
should be no mistake this time. He con- 
tented himself with a passing bark and snap 


86 


The Witch. 


at a squirrel or bird, just as Harry and Wil- 
lie refrained from climbing trees or the girls 
from plucking up sassafras root or searching 
for wild grapes. The sweet odors of the 
woods grew stronger as they went deeper 
into its shadows, but were so blended to- 
gether that they were indistinguishable. A 
woodpecker tapped, a bird sang, now and 
again, notes of thrilling sweetness. 

But the hearts of the children were heavy 
as they wandered aimlessly on, not knowing 
whither. What were their sensations when 
all at once they came suddenly into an open 
space. The trees had vanished thence as if 
by magic, and in one corner of the clearing, 
tolerably close to where they stood, was the 
hut of their imagination. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

THE WITCH. 

Seeing it suddenly was a shock to them in 
more ways than one. In the first place, they 
had no idea it was so near ; in the second 


The Witch . 


87 


place, despite all the tales told of it by the 
Woodville people, they had almost begun to 
believe that it did not exist at all. 

And now there it stood, in the shadow of 
a clump of trees, a tumble-down hut, with 
moss growing on its roof and the door slightly 
ajar. The children’s eyes fixed themselves 
at once upon that aperture. If it should 
open even by one inch more, was their un- 
spoken thought, how fearful it would be ! 
No one dared breathe a word. What they 
feared was that Duke might begin to bark 
or take it into his head to run forward 
and investigate ; but some mysterious influ- 
ence seemed to weigh upon the dog, or so 
the children fancied. He sat down close to 
Nan, who was holding Martha’s hand. He, 
too, seemed to gaze at the half-open door and 
to look from one to another of the children, 
as if he were asking what it all meant. There 
was a thrilling moment, when the door was 
seen to quiver slightly, ever so slightly and 
uncertainly, and presently a withered hand 
appeared. 

Nan’s grasp tightened upon Martha’s hand, 
and her lips, like Martha’s, moved in prayer. 


88 


The Witch . 


The Goodwins were in tears, and the boys 
were ready, as Harry whispered, “ to col- 
lapse/' 

“We can’t collapse,” said Nan; “we 
must stand together and be as brave as pos- 
sible/' 

The hand, uncertainly fumbling, got the 
door open at last, and on the threshold the 
children saw an old, wrinkled face, brown 
and deeply lined, with fierce, black eyes, 
which must have been very bright in youth. 
Upon the head was a strange head-dress of 
bright red, such as the children had never 
seen before. The crone wore a black dress 
striped with green, and a scarlet shawl 
thrown over it. She leaned upon a cane 
and hobbled out, making her way to a chair 
rudely formed of logs joined together. She 
gave a cackling laugh, which sent a shiver 
through the children. After she was seated 
her eyes began to wander round, like those 
of some hawk or other bird of ill omen. 
Every instant Nan expected to meet those 
eyes, with the glitter in them only half dimmed 
by age. She evidently did not see the chil- 
dren, and they might easily have withdrawn 


The Witch. 


89 


to the shelter of the woods ; but they stood 
as if rooted to the spot by some strange pow- 
er. Presently the old woman began to sing 
in a cracked old voice, and this was the song 
that she sang : 

“ And the owl, 

Won’t they howl 
When they hear it hoot ? 

And we’ll make a bonny fire 
Out of crackling bush and brier — 

Make them all into soup.” 

At the end of the verse she added some 
words in a language wholly incomprehensible 
to the children. The song was too much for 
the Goodwins. Edith sank upon the ground, 
Mary gave an audible sob, which seemed to 
attract the old woman’s attention, as she 
turned her head in their direction. 

“ Hush !” said Nan. “ What’s the use 
crying? she’ll hear you.” 

There was something commanding in the 
child’s voice. She seemed to have got the 
mastery somewhat over her own fear, and 
to be preparing with even more than her or- 
dinary brave-heartedness to meet the crisis. 
Poor little Martha ! The stories which had 


9 ° 


The Witch. 


so terrified her, even at the fireside at home 
or in the cottages of the Woodville folk, con- 
cerning this old woman of the woods, all 
thronged in upon her sensitive mind ; but 
she had a fine courage of her own, and would 
not for the world have endangered herself 
and the others by crying aloud. Moreover, 
she had a strong faith, wonderfully strong 
and earnest for a child — the same kind of 
faith which makes the grown woman heroic 
in bearing trials of every sort. Her guard- 
ian angel was a real person to her. Holy 
Mary specially took care of children, she 
thought, because her little Jesus had been 
once a child. 

The old creature, as old as the hills she 
looked, horrible, ghastly, began a second 
verse of her weird song : 

“ There’s the fat and the lean, 

To be cooked with the bean. 

To be roasted in the pan, 

And get out who can. 

And the owl, won’t they howl 
When they hear him hoot?” 

“ 1 told you,’’ said Harry Moore, in a funereal 
whisper, “ that she was going to roast us.’' 


The Witch. 


9i 


His tongue felt dry in his mouth, and it 
was only by a violent effort he could speak 
at all ; but his whisper was louder than he 
supposed ; for the old woman, turning once 
more sharply in their direction, faced them 
for a moment or two in silence. Pointing 
her stick at them with shaking hand, she 
asked in a fierce tone : 

“ Who are you, who come to trouble me ?” 

“ Children who have lost their way,” said 
Nan, ” but who don’t want to trouble you 
at all.” 

” Is that the moon in the sky behind you ?” 
the old woman asked. 

Involuntarily all the children looked hastily 
backward, where there was no sign of any 
moon, though it was darkening visibly, and 
night could not be far off. 

“ In the moonlight the owl hoots,” she 
said, and to their dismay the children saw 
that she was trying to stand up, muttering 
as she did so. 

“ It’s there, silver-white ; so come, pretty 
dears, till 1 show you my hut with the bones 
and the cages.” 

Once up she could move faster than might 


9 2 


The Witch . 


have been expected, and advanced steadily 
towards them. Terror, again, prevented the 
children from running away as they might 
have done ; and, indeed, their minds were 
full of the idea that this woman was pos- 
sessed of supernatural powers, and that if 
they did run it would be of no use ; so they 
stood stock still during that awful moment 
or two, when every step was bringing that 
fearful object nearer. She was so close that 
almost she could have touched them, when 
Duke, beginning to feel that matters were 
going a little too far, interfered. He had 
never heard of witches or ovens or cages or 
owls, but he did know that a very strange, 
suspicious figure was coming towards his 
people with threatening looks. Rousing 
himself, he began to bark with all his might. 
The old woman stopped, appeared troubled, 
and finally began a hasty retreat towards the 
house. In her haste she stumbled and fell. 
Nan, forgetting everything, ran forward to 
pick her up. Even if she were a witch, and 
even if it were true that she made children 
into soup, she was an old woman, and, per- 
haps, she was hurt. She helped the old 


The Witch . 


93 


woman to her feet and led her within a few 
paces of her door. Duke followed with an 
occasional bark. 

Nearing that dreaded door Nan’s courage 
gave out, and she shrank away from that 
awful interior, of which she had a glimpse — 
gloomy and dark, with a cracked mirror fac- 
ing the door, a cage upon the wall, and a 
great iron pot swinging over a fireless hearth. 
The old woman, without a backward glance 
or a word of thanks to Nan, passed into the 
house, pursued still by short, angry barks 
from Duke, who evidently inspired her with 
great fear. 

Scarcely had Nan rejoined the group un- 
der the trees, when a young woman appeared 
upon the threshold, clad in a loose gown of 
many colors. Her skin was dark, almost 
coffee-colored, and her hair, where it escaped 
from under a crimson handkerchief, was jet 
black. 

“ She’s changed into the young one !” cried 
Harry Moore. “ Good Lord, deliver us !” 

“ Here, you brats,” was this woman’s un- 
ceremonious greeting, “ what brought you 
here ?” 


94 


The Witch , 


” We have lost our way,” said Nan, '* and 
can’t get back to the village.” 

“ What village ?” 

” Woodville. ” 

” You’re mighty far from there, but take 
that path yonder, and keep to it, no matter 
how it turns, and get out of here quick, if 
you want to have a whole skin.” 

The children needed no second bidding. 
They hastily made for the opening in the 
forest indicated by the woman, and it was 
not till they had gone some little distance that 
they ventured to look back. They saw that 
threatening figure in the multi-colored gar- 
ment still standing on the threshold, her fierce 
eyes glaring after them, and they hurried on. 

They had not gone a very great distance 
when they heard, coming whence they knew 
not, a strange, unnatural cry. To their 
strained senses it seemed like that of a being 
from another world. They had gone through 
so much, however, that they began to feel as 
if nothing mattered, and were only a degree 
or.two more frightened when a large white 
owl came out from the trees, flapping directly 
above their heads. 


The Witch. 


95 


“ She’s turned into an owl to come after 
us !” cried Harry Moore, and with one ac- 
cord all took to their heels, Martha and the 
Goodwins crying as they ran. 

It was some time before they even paused 
to take breath. Oh, what a run it was, and 
what a way home altogether, haunted at 
every step by imaginary terrors, in addition 
to the real terror of growing darkness ! Per- 
haps the old woman disguised as an owl was 
after them ! perhaps the young woman had 
sent them by this path that robbers might 
catch them ! perhaps it wasn’t the right way 
home at all, and that they would have to 
stay all night in the woods ! 

The lights were twinkling from every house 
in the village when they emerged from the 
woods at the head of its principal street. 
What a joy it was to see the white light of 
Hubbell’s grocery, and the red light of Sam- 
my Hoskin’s saloon, and to read the familiar 
signs ! 

“ I shall have to forbid you going beyond 
certain limits if this goes on,” said Nan’s 
father. He had just arrived a few moments 
before their return by the train from town, 


96 The Witch . 

and was very much alarmed as well as seri- 
ously vexed. “ Nan, I wonder at you. Did 
you not know it was wrong to venture on 
such an expedition ?” 

" No, pappy/' answered Nan ; “ I really 
didn't think it was any harm, and I didn’t 
know it would be so dangerous.” 

“ You must promise me in future not to do 
any of these things without letting me know. 

“ Oh, we’ll promise,” said Nan ; ” and 1 
don’t think we’ll want to go very far any 
more ; we’re too much afraid.” 

Harry Moore always maintained — a view 
in which he was upheld by the Goodwins 
and Willie Slocum — that the old woman was 
a witch, and had twice changed herself into 
a young woman and an owl ; but Nan rea- 
soned it out otherwise. 

“ 1 don’t think the old woman is a witch 
at all. If she was, she wouldn’t have been 
afraid of Duke, and wouldn’t have fallen 
down ; and the young one is separate — per- 
haps her daughter.” 

” She wasn’t very bad, I think,” put in 
Martha, “ or she wouldn’t have told us how 
to get home.” 


A Day s Outing. 


97 


“ But the owl?” said the Goodwins. 

“ Well, I think,” said Nan, “ they just 
have an owl, and they let it out sometimes.” 

” What did the old hag sing like that for?” 
asked Harry Moore. 

” Oh ! perhaps to frighten us away, or per- 
haps she’s crazy. I think they’re gypsies, 
and when 1 said so to pappy, he thought so, 
too.” 

But Harry Moore, like most of his older 
neighbors, remained firmly convinced that 
the old woman was possessed of all sorts of 
magical powers. 


CHAPTER IX. 

A day’s outing. 

It was a golden-hued September morning, 
and September at its best is the most glori- 
ous weather of the year— the brightest, the 
sweetest, the most bracing and healthful that 
ever falls upon a country village. The red 
tints were deepening in fields and woods, so 


9 8 


A Day' s Outing. 


that they gave to nature an indescribable 
holiday appearance. Clusters of red berries 
hung in the trees, golden-rod nodded in the 
meadows ; fields of corn, grown to colossal 
size, were ready for the gathering. Yes, 
Woodville was delicious in the autumn. 

The children were in great delight, for 
Nan’s father had ordered donkeys to be 
brought to the door, and besides the consid- 
erable attraction of a donkey-ride, they were 
going to take luncheon at a farmhouse on the 
outskirts of the village. Harry Moore, the 
Goodwins, and Willie Slocum were to meet 
them out there. Nan was an adept in don- 
key-riding. Her father had had her taught 
at an early age, to prepare her for the more 
ambitious exercise later of horseback-riding. 

Martha had made the attempt more than 
once, but could not be trusted alone, so that 
old Bert Norton was to accompany and take 
her in charge, and Nan’s father was himself 
to be in attendance upon Charlie. The pa- 
tient beasts stood still, their long ears flap- 
ping as they waited for their riders. Duke 
had to be banished ignominiously, for he 
persisted in barking at these newcomers and 


A Day' s Outing. 


99 


dancing around them so aggravatingly that 
the foremost neddy, roused at last to resent- 
ment, made a vicious kick at him. 

The parrot had his share in the morning’s 
sport by shouting from an upper window, 

Hello ! Hello !” though it was difficult to 
tell whether he was addressing the donkeys 
or the human beings assembled around them. 
He seemed to think it in some sort a special 
occasion, for he began to cry out, “ Extra ! 
Extra ! E-x-tra !” As the noise increased 
below, so did his vocal efforts. When finally 
the little cavalcade, consisting of Nan, Char- 
lie, held in position by Nan’s father, and 
Martha, escorted by old Bert Norton, rode 
off, it was to exultant cries from the parrot’s 
cage of, “ All right ! Good-by ! Good-by 
now ! Good-by !” 

Charlie’s delight was unbounded. He 
showed it by shouting out triumphant ex- 
clamations, by calling on the passers-by to 
take note of his exalted position, and making 
free use of all the peculiar slang expressions 
which he had picked up within the narrow 
boundaries of his life. 

They went down the village street, past 


IOO 


A Day's Outing. 


the old willow-tree just in front of Nat 
Horne’s bakery, and up by Long Sam Wil- 
son’s blacksmith shop. Sam was at the door 
in leathern apron and with smudged face to 
watch them. 

To him Charlie shouted in glee : 

“ Hello, Sam ! Look at me !” 

Sam returned the greeting with a grin, 
and the donkey went on under the trees, 
forming almost an avenue along that pleasant 
village street. Some of the village dogs 
came out and barked, notably Martha’s old 
enemy at the grocer’s, but the steady little 
beasts plodded on unheeding. 

Charlie made his patient attendant stop at 
a little shop on the outskirts of the town. 

“ I want to get some gingerbread horses,” 
he said, “ and a few papers of butter-scotch.” 

So the old woman who kept the shop, and 
who was well known to the children, came 
out and had a chat and took their orders. 
Nan, who was a little in front, reined in her 
donkey, and Martha, with Bert Norton, rode 
up just as the little old woman came out 
with the coveted articles. 

She had a very tiny shop, and she was a 


A Day's Outing . 


IOI 


tiny, bent old person ; but the children paid 
her frequent visits. They never knew her 
name, and invariably spoke of her as “ the 
old woman." 

In addition to the gingerbread horses, 
which, as Nan said, “ could only be got at 
the old woman’s," she was remarkable for 
butter-scotch, while she could supply the 
children at demand with penny rings, mar- 
bles, embracing a variety of colored alleys, 
false-faces, and a host of other articles, the 
fancy for which was mysterious to all those 
grown people to whom youth was a very 
long way off. 

Nan’s father was lost in wonder, for in- 
stance, why any one should want butter- 
scotch, and he could not help making a wry 
face at the thought of devouring the ginger- 
bread quadrupeds. He made another when 
Charlie unceremoniously asked him to put 
the former sticky substance in his pocket. 

" Keep it for me till we get there," Charlie 
said lightly ; " and, Nan, do you think you 
can carry the gingerbread horses ?” 

Nan could not very well, she said, but 
Martha obligingly consented to do so, as she 


102 A Day's Outing. 

was not concerned about the guidance of her 
steed. 

The procession, set in motion again, made 
a short pause at the lily -pond. The donkeys, 
indeed, as by common consent, stood still 
side by side there, showing evident signs of 
wanting to stay. 

“ Perhaps they see theirselves in the wa- 
ter,” said Martha. 

For, indeed, it was clear as a mirror, with 
a score or more of lilies resting on its sur- 
face. Its edges were fringed with soft, 
feathery green, and a few bushes arose in 
clusters around it. Oh, it was a sweet spot ! 
Woodville could boast none sweeter, and its 
freshness, stillness, and peace sank into the 
children’s joyous hearts, striking a deeper 
note, somehow, than the mere enjoyment of 
being alive and being in the morning of life 
on such a day. 

They could not guess what other and far 
different associations that exquisite spot was 
one day to have for them ; but all that will 
be duly related in a later chapter. 

Meanwhile, they pressed on, now taking a 
by-path to the right, towards the farmhouse 


A Day' s Outing. 


103 


of Mynheer Van Tassel. He was an old 
Dutchman, descended from some of those 
who had first come over the sea from Hol- 
land, and farmed the land in or about this 
district. 

As the chimneys of this dwelling appeared 
through the trees Charlie set up a yell of de- 
light. 

“ There’s the farm,” cried he ; “ and you 
bet I’m hungry !” 

“ I thought you ate some of those ginger- 
bread monkeys, or whatever they are,” said 
Nan’s father. 

“Horses!” said Charlie reproachfully. 
“ I only ate a leg of one. Martha has them.” 

“ Martha, have you been devouring steeds 
of gingerbread ?” asked Nan’s father. 

“ No, I didn’t eat any,” said Martha ; “ I 
was waiting till we got here and Charlie 
said I might.” 

Mynheer received them at the door. He 
was a man of few words, and his wife of still 
fewer ; but with her the reason was an ex- 
cellent one — she knew scarcely any English ; 
but she was very effusive over the children. 
Her broad, red face expanded into smiles as 


104 


A Day s Outing. 


she patted them upon the cheeks or mut- 
tered unintelligible terms of endearment. 

The veranda went round three sides of the 
house, and there was a garden— every house 
in Woodville has a garden — also, there was 
a heavy knocker to the door, and Charlie 
begged Nan’s father to lift him up so that he 
might sound it. This he did, to the old 
Dutchwoman’s exuberant delight. She 
laughed as long and as loud as any of the 
children at the performance. 

“ I wonder why she thinks it so funny ?” 
said Nan, in a whisper to Martha. 

“ Perhaps she’s only pretending,” an- 
swered Martha, in a still more sepulchral 
whisper. 

Then they all went out into the farm-yard 
to feed the chickens with crumbs of ginger- 
bread horses. Charlie soon found that these 
feathered epicures absolutely rejected butter- 
scotch. A great, grunting hog, however, 
swallowed two squares whole, paper and all. 

“Such a child!” cried Nan. “Giving 
candy to the pigs, when he has just spent 
money for it. I suppose you got that fifteen 
cents out of your savings bank ?” 


A Day s Outing. 


io 5 

No,” said Nan’s father, coming up be- 
hind ; 4 4 his hard-earned and scanty savings 
are undisturbed. / have paid for the hog’s 
banquet.” 

Presently there was a rush to the front 
gate. A country wagon had just driven up, 
depositing the Goodwins and the two boys 
at the house. They were immediately 
dragged off by Nan to see the chickens and 
pigs, and were absorbed in these delights 
when the Dutchwoman came out to call them 
to luncheon. Clotted cream was among the 
dainties which the children specially remem- 
bered, but there were curious-looking but 
very toothsome German cakes, called by an 
unpronounceable name, following upon some 
edibles of a more substantial character, 
cooked also after the fashion of the old wom- 
an’s race ; but everything was good of its 
kind and scrupulously clean, and the fresh, 
rosy, kindly face dealing out the good things 
gave an added charm to each. 

It was a day to be remembered and jotted 
down in life’s note-book. Everything was 
new and unfamiliar, even to the pipe which 
mynheer smoked as he walked about and 


B?'akenbridge Hall . 


106 

chatted with Nan’s father. It was wearing 
late when they tore themselves away, laden 
with flowers from the prim garden, and with 
apples as rosy as their hostess. 

It was purple-tinted evening as they passed 
homeward down the village streets, some- 
what tired and drooping, but full of their 
new experiences. To all of which old Mary 
had to listen during the days that followed. 


CHAPTER X. 

BRAKENBRIDGE HALL. 

The children had often looked with much 
admiration and something akin to awe on 
Brakenbridge Hall. It is true they had 
never been nearer it than the hedge of box- 
wood which separated its smooth lawn and 
giant trees from the roadway ; but they 
often talked about it when they passed there, 
and even at home by the fireside. In their 
walks they often went that way, because 
Brakenbridge Hall stood on a very shady 
street or crossway, at the head, as it were, of 


Brakenbridge Hall. 


07 


the chief thoroughfare. It dwelt in a kind 
of aristocratic seclusion. Though it was said 
to have been in the same place when the 
War of the Revolution broke out, no houses, 
much less shops, had ever been built within 
measurable distance of it. The people 
seemed to regard it as conferring a species 
of nobility on Woodville. It was always 
pointed out to strangers in some such words 
as : 

“See that old house up yonder? Why, 
it has stood there since before the first blow 
was struck in the Revolution/’ 

The children had never seen any one going 
in or coming out of the house. Even Nan, 
who had been so many summers at Wood- 
ville, was in this respect no more fortunate 
than the others. Nan used to inquire fre- 
quently of Mrs. Wills or Bert Norton or Sam 
Wilson : 

“ Does anybody really live there ?” 

“ Yes, Squire Brakenbridge ; he lives 
there.” 

” I thought he was only pretending,” said 
Martha. 

“ Pretending !” cried Mrs. Wills. “ Why, 


1 08 Brakenb ridge Hall. 

sakes alive ! he’s just as real as that forge 
over to Sam Wilson’s.” 

But oddly enough the children held to 
their own opinion that Squire Brakenbridge 
was a myth. 

“ His grandfather, or I guess, maybe, 
’twas his great-grandfather, he went to the 
Revolutionary War. He fought right along- 
side of Washington.” 

This was Bert Norton’s contribution to 
the history of Brakenbridge Hall. 

” This Squire Brakenbridge, I reckon, he 
fought, too, in the Civil War.” 

“ He never comes out,” said Martha. 

“ Oh, yes, he do,” Bert would answer. 

“ No one ever sees him,” said Nan. 

” Some folks does,” Bert vaguely asserted. 

” I wish / could see him,” said Charlie. 

“ Well, if you stay round the gate long 
enough I guess you might,” Bert Norton 
wound up, with a relaxing of his wooden 
visage into a smile. 

“ Perhaps it’s only at night,” said Nan. 

He may stay in all day.” 

“ In the month of July it would be a right 
safe precaution, ’ ’ Bert concluded. He never 


Brakenbridge Hall. 109 

dwelt very long on the subject, which was 
unusual with him, for, generally speaking, 
he treated most topics very exhaustively. 

A morning or two after the donkey-ride 
Nan and Martha put Charlie in his carriage 
and set out for a walk. Though the streets 
of Woodville were no longer fiery hot, as 
they were wont to be in August and July, 
still, partly from force of habit, partly from 
their unabated interest in Brakenbridge Hall, 
they went round that way ; besides there 
was a broad, wooden sidewalk just there, on 
which it was easy to drive Charlie’s carriage. 
There was a row of trees on the outer edge 
of this walk which almost met another row 
on the inner side of the hedge, so that the 
sun had very little chance there, even in the 
dog-days. It was cool almost to damp- 
ness. 

The hedge was kept with exquisite neat- 
ness, and its dark, luxuriant green had as 
yet suffered nothing at all from the decline 
of summer. The lawn was a marvel of 
smoothness and greenness. A gravelled 
walk, bordered also by a hedge, went straight 
up from the gate to the hall-door. The 


no 


Brakenbridge Hall. 


house, white and square, with lofty veranda 
supported by tall columns, was not unlike a 
meeting-house. A fiery mass of scarlet, a 
bed of gladiolas, directly in front of one of 
the windows, caught the eye as a relief from 
all the whiteness and greenness. 

The children passed slowly, as was their 
wont, along by the hedge, and then repassed 
it, conversing about the place and its owner, 
whether real or mythical. 

“ There are a good many ghostly people 
at Woodville,” said Martha. 

44 Well, who?” inquired Nan. 

“ There’s the witch,” said Martha, “ and 
this one.” 

Being somewhat in doubt as how to de- 
scribe the master of the hall, she merely nod- 
ded towards the house. 

” That’s only two,” said Nan. 44 I wish 
we knew about him." 

” Bert Norton calls him 4 the squire,’ and 
it sounds rather awful,” said Martha, in a 
hushed voice. 

Bert says he went to the war,” added 
Charlie, 44 and got wounded. What’s get- 
ting wounded, Martha?” 


Brakenbriage Hall. 


hi 


Charlie paused after his fashion to ask 
about some word which puzzled him. 

** Getting shot, or anything/’ said Martha. 

“ It must hurt to get shot,” said Charlie. 

Of course it does,” said Nan. “ Bert 
says the squire got two or three wounds at 
Antietam. I know what that is, because 
papa told me, and I learned a good deal 
about it last year.” 

** What was it?” asked Charlie. 

” Oh, a great battle, where the North- 
ern soldiers won ; but a great many were 
killed.” 

** I think it must be terrible to kill any 
one,” said Martha. “ I wouldn’t like to, 
would you, Nan ?” 

“ No,” said Nan. “ I wonder if anybody 
really lives in this house?” 

“ If there wasn’t?” said Martha, who was 
at the moment peering eagerly through the 
hedge at the dwelling, with its carefully 
closed shutters ; and as if the idea conveyed 
some peculiar idea of terror to her mind, she 
added, “ Wouldn’t it be awful ?” 

** I don’t think it would be awful exactly,” 
said Nan, “ but it would be queer.” 


1 12 


Brakenbridge Hall. 


“ I think sometimes the squire is only pre- 
tending," said Martha. 

“ But, then, who has the grass cut and 
keeps everything in order?" said practical 
Nan. 

“ The squire," said a voice close at hand. 

Martha so hastily raised her head from her 
peep-hole in the hedge, that her large hat 
caught on a twig, and she had some trouble 
to undo it. 

** Did you speak, Martha?" asked Nan. 

“ No ; but I thought I heard some one." 

“ So did I," said Charlie, speaking very 
low. 

“ It must have been the wind," said Nan. 

“ Probably it was the wind," said Martha, 
trying to reassure herself. 

“ The wind doesn’t say words," said Char- 
lie. “ I heard it say a word." 

“ Did you — did you, really?" asked Nan. 

“ But who could have spoken ?" 

“ The squire,” said the same voice, this 
time quite distinctly. It was too much. 
Martha hastily set Charlie’s carriage in mo- 
tion, and Nan gave a hand, that they might 
the more quickly leave the dreaded spot. 


Braketibridge Hall. 


ii3 

“ We’ll never come here again,” whispered 
Martha. 

“ Don’t say that,” said the voice, “or I 
shall be sorry I tried to mystify you.” 

But this time the owner of the voice came 
into view. The children stood still again 
and gazed at him— a tall man, very slender, 
and slightly stooping. The children thought 
him very old, but he was in reality not much 
past sixty. Charlie, after a careful examina- 
tion of his face, asked boldly : 

“ What’s mystify ?” He couldn’t pro- 
nounce the word very well. The gentleman 
answered : 

“ Oh ! 1 was playing a joke on you, though 
I don’t often joke.” 

The girls, much scandalized at Charlie’s 
boldness, said not a word, and were wonder- 
ing how they could get away. 

“ So you thought I was only pretending,” 
said the old man to Martha. 

Martha reddened in great confusion, as if 
it had been a very serious offence to doubt 
the gentleman’s reality. He cast a very 
kindly look at her. Her quaint, broad little 
figure seemed to please him. 


Brake abridge Hall. 


114 

“ You didn’t believe there was a real 
squire. Old Norton couldn’t have been very 
convincing in his eloquence,” he added. 

“ Were you a soldier?” asked Charlie. 

“ Yes, my little man, I was a soldier.” 

“ And did you truly get wounded?” 

A look as of pain crossed the squire’s face 
as he showed them without a word an empty 
coat-sleeve. 

Charlie’s eyes were fixed on him with won- 
der, Nan’s with admiration, but the great 
tears stood in Martha’s expressive gray ones. 

“ Don’t feel so sorry, little one, ’’the squire 
said gently ; “it was very long ago.” 

By some sudden transition of feeling the 
squire’s face grew dreamy as his thoughts 
wandered far from Woodville, which, how- 
ever, had seen him ride forth a gallant young 
soldier, followed by the country people’s ad- 
miration. Little could the children in their 
simplicity have guessed at the scenes and 
sights now being recalled after so many 
years, nor could they have understood what 
it meant to have been so frequently men- 
tioned, as the man before them had been, 
“ for gallant and meritorious service.” 


Braketibridge Hall. 115 

“ I want to be a soldier,” said Charlie, 
“ if my legs grow strong ; but if they don't 
I can’t, for you know 1 can’t walk.” 

For the first time the squire seemed to 
realize the state of affairs. 

“ Poor little man ! Brave of spirit, but 
helpless of body,” he muttered. “ Perhaps 
you’ll be a soldier yet,” he added aloud. 

“You often pass this way ?” he went on, 
addressing Nan. ” Oh, you needn’t look sur- 
prised. I have seen you very often, though 
you never saw me.” 

” We like to come here in summer because 
it’s shady,” said Nan, ” and because we like 
to look in.” 

” Some day you must come farther than 
the hedge,” said the squire. ” I want to 
show my martial little friend here my sword, 
my uniform, and some other things I have.” 

“ And those big gold things for your shoul- 
ders,” said Charlie, growing excited, “ and 
a bugle. Did you have a bugle ?” 

” No ; I regret to say I had not a bugle,” 
said the squire. “ That effective instrument 
of noise was in worthier hands than mine.” 

“ You had a horse?” said Charlie, begin- 


n6 Brakenbridge Hall. 

ning to lose some of his respect for the 
stranger. 

“ Yes ; I had one killed under me, and an- 
other died comfortably here in Woodville. ” 

“ I saw a dead horse once,” said Charlie, 
becoming reminiscent. 

” Charlie,” said Nan, “ we must go now.” 

She was afraid he would go on talking for- 
ever, she said, and perhaps the squire wanted 
them to go away. 

” Must you, really?” said the squire. 
■“ Tell me your names first and where you 
live. 1 have made some friends at last in 
this God-forsaken Woodville.” 

They told him their name, and he knew it 
at once, and said : 

” I think 1 knew a relative of yours — very 
possibly your grandfather — and I think I rec- 
ollect your father when he was a boy.” 

Nan explained then that she and the 
others were cousins. 

Well,” said the squire, ” I am going to 
write and ask permission for you all to spend 
a day with me here at the Hall. I mustn’t 
lose sight of the first friends 1 have made 
this quarter century.” 


Brakenbridge Hall. 


117 

He took Martha’s hand and held it in both 
of his before he turned away. 

“ As for you, my dear,” he said, “ you 
have given me the most precious gift I have 
received since my youth — a tear of real sym- 
pathy. ” 

Martha didn’t know very well what he 
meant, but she watched him going slowly up 
the long avenue with eyes of unconscious pity. 

“ Wouldn’t you be rather afraid to go into 
Brakenbridge Hall ?” asked Nan when they 
had got well out of earshot, for they half 
suspected that the squire was like the man in 
the fairy tale who, by keeping his ear to the 
ground, could hear the grass growing. 

“ No, I don’t think I would,” Martha an- 
swered, rather unexpectedly, for she was gen- 
erally timid and afraid of strangers. “ I like 
the squire.” 

“ Do you?” said Nan. “ I am not sure, 
but I think I do.” 

“ I do,” said Charlie. *' He promised to 
show me his sword.” 

“ Martha cried when he showed us that 
his arm was off,” said Nan, relating the ex- 
perience to her father. 


Brakenbridge Hall. 


1 18 

“ Well, I didn’t,” said Martha, rather 
ashamed of the weakness. ” I only had 
tears in my eyes.” 

” Your heart is too big for your body, lit- 
tle Martha,” said Nan’s father; “ but you 
needn’t be ashamed of it.” 

” Can we go if he asks us ?” asked Nan. 

“ Certainly,” said Nan’s father. ” I know 
all about Squire Brakenbridge. A more 
gallant soldier never served his country. If 
he asks me, I will gladly go, too ; but I fear 
he won’t.” 

% 

Bert Norton and the rest of the village 
people heard the news with something like 
consternation, and they certainly regarded 
the children with additional respect. Had 
they been favored by an invitation to visit 
another planet, they could scarcely have 
been looked upon as more highly privileged 
by the simple folk of Woodville. To have 
been spoken to by the squire, who never 
took the slightest notice of anybody, and to 
have been asked to come and visit him ! 
The event was well-nigh incredible. Many 
questions were asked the children as to the 
squire’s personal appearance, his speech, and 


A Delayed Invitation . . 


1 19 

his clothing. Nan answered somewhat in 
detail, Charlie wandered off to the subject of 
his sword and regiment, and Martha only 
replied that she liked the squire, and wasn’t 
at all afraid of him. 

“ That’s the remarkablest thing,” said 
Bert Norton. “ Why, I just skedaddle when 
I see that gent within a hundred yards of 
me — yes, sir, I run for it as if Old Nick 
were after me. But that little one, ordinarily 
she’s afraid of a puppy dog, and she ain’t 
the least bit timorous about going to spend 
a day with the squire.” 


CHAPTER XI. 

A DELAYED INVITATION. 

The squire was so long in fulfilling his 
promise, day after day elapsing since he 
made it without word or sign from the Hall, 
that the children began to think he had for- 
gotten all about it. Harry Moore had, in- 
deed, begun to jeer at them about the ex- 


120 


A Delayed Invitation. 


pected visit, the prospect of which he had at 
first sorely envied them. 

“ Perhaps, as Martha used to say, ‘ he’s 
only pretending ; that there’s no real squire 
at all,’ " said Harry Moore. 

“ There is,” said Charlie ; “a big one, 
too, with gray hair and a piece here on his 

up.” 

” A mustache,” said Nan. ” Oh, he’s real, 
because he talked to us for a good while.” 

“ Unless he’s a ghost,” said Harry Moore 
mischievously. 

The children paused. This was a horrible 
suspicion ; but Martha said quietly : 

“ He isn’t a ghost. I felt his hand. It 
wasn’t cold at all.” 

“ Well, he’s played you a rum trick,” said 
Harry Moore, “ promising to let you into 
his house.” 

He said he’d show me his uniform and 
lots of things,” said Charlie, beginning to 
cry at the recollection. 

“ Perhaps he will,” said Martha consol- 
ingly. 

Harry Moore, stop teasing,” said Nan ; 
” you never even saw the squire.” 


A Delayed Invitation. 


12 1 


“ 1 don’t want to,” said Harry; but an in- 
ward monitor told him what Nan was too 
polite to say, that he was not exactly speak- 
ing the truth. He should very much like to 
have seen the squire, even if it were at a 
distance. 

“ He was at the war, and he got wound- 
ed,” said Charlie. 

“ Oh, yes, youngster, we heard all that,” 
said Harry. "I’m going down to play leap- 
frog with Willie Slocum and two or three 
other fellows. ” 

“ I wish 1 could,” said Charlie. 

“ ‘ If wishing were having, beggars might 
ride ! ’ ” quoted Harry mockingly. “ You’ve 
seen the squire, and you were promised an 
invite to the Hall. That ought to be enough 
for you, only that it never came.” 

Charlie looked pitifully at Martha, and 
Martha wrathfully at Harry. 

“ It’s cowardly to tease a little fellow like 
Charlie,” said Nan; “and it’s just because 
you’re spiteful.” 

” No, I ain’t,” said Harry, vaulting over 
the low gate as he spoke ; “ but I’m off now. 
I’m getting tired of playing with girls and 


122 A Delayed Invitation. 

little toads, just like girls, that can’t fight a 
fellow. ” 

“ Perhaps it’s just as well for you he 
can’t,” said Nan. 

Willie Slocum, who was the soul of good 
nature, drew near poor Charlie, who was 
deeply hurt by what he could follow of 
Harry’s discourse. The latter was already 
half-way down the road. 

“Would you like to spin my top?” 
said Willie. “ I’ll lend it to you if you 
like.” 

“ I can’t never play leap frog.” said Char- 
lie, “ and I can’t fight Harry Moore. He 
says I’m like a girl.” 

“ Don’t mind,” said Willie. ” You can 
play top and marbles and lots of games.” 

“ He says I’m like a girl,” persisted Char- 
lie, trying to keep back his tears. 

“ No, you ain’t,” said Willie. 

A sharp whistle here broke on their ears 
with cries of : 

“ Hey, Willie, are you coming?” 

Looking down the road, they saw Harry 
Moore with two of his fingers in his mouth, 
giving utterance to the aforesaid shrill sound. 


A Delayed Invitation. 


123 


which he varied by removing his fingers and 
calling as above described. 

" I’ll be back by and by/' said Willie, 

and be sure and tell me if you hear any- 
thing more about the squire." 

“ Harry Moore’s getting to be a hateful 
boy," said Edith Goodwin. 

" Sometimes he’s pretty nice," said Mar- 
tha. 

“ And sometimes he’s horrid," said Nan ; 
“ but we don’t care if he doesn’t play with 
us. We can just play ourselves." 

"I like Willie Slocum," said Charlie; 
“ he’s always kind to me." 

“ Oh. yes, we all like him very much," 
said Nan. 

“ He’s not rough, like most boys," said 
Mary Goodwin. 

" Are most boys rough?" inquired Nan, 
putting her head on one side in a thoughtful 
attitude. " We don’t know many boys, do 
we, Martha?" 

" No," said Martha, shaking her head. 
She was very busy trying to do a little piece 
of knitting which Mary had " put on’’ for 
her. It proved a matter of such difficulty 


124 


A Delayed Invitation. 


that she could not find time to talk. Hands, 
eyes, head, and shoulders were all concerned 
in the mighty task. She sat in a little chair, 
like some quaint figure of industry. “ I don’t 
know any except Harry Moore and Willie 
and Charlie/’ 

Nan and the Goodwins were busy manu- 
facturing richly jewelled rings out of many- 
colored beads. Rubies, topazes, turquoises, 
emeralds were all represented respectively 
by red, yellow, blue, and green beads. They 
gravely discussed the merits of each bead as 
though these multi-colored bits of glass were 
gems of purest ray. 

“ I am going to make a necklace next,*' 
said Nan, “ with a large pendant in the cen- 
tre. The pendant will be of rubies and 
diamonds.” 

44 Mine, I think, I will make of sapphires,” 
said Edith. 

44 I am going to try a bracelet,” said Mary 
Goodwin, 44 but it will want very strong 
thread, because bracelets break so.” 

44 So do necklaces,” said Nan, 44 and then 
you lose such a lot of beads. Once mine 
broke when I was in the woods. It was a 


A Delayed Invitation. 


I2 5 


nice one I made of amber. I made Martha 
another of emeralds at the same time. What 
did you do with yours, Martha ?” 

I have it in my box of things in the play- 
room,” said Martha, dropping two stitches 
in the effort of answering. 

Their conversation was interrupted by the 
appearance at the gate of a somewhat singu- 
lar figure. It was a negro, much bent with 
age, his hair snow-white, dressed in a suit of 
rather rusty black. Duke, arising from a 
sunny corner where he had been reposing, 
began to bark loudly, and, indeed, to’ growl 
ominously. 

The old man stopped, making no farther 
attempt to advance until Nan had quieted 
the dog. Then he came forward, bowing 
low and speaking pompously, alter the man- 
ner of his race, and ended by placing in Nan’s 
hands two square envelopes. They were 
addressed in a large, somewhat bold hand. 
When Nan had read the address upon the 
cover the negro said : 

“ Am I to suppose, miss, that I have had 
the honor of placing these epistles in the 
proper hands ?” 


126 


A Delayed Invitation. 


Nan answered that he was correct in his 
supposition ; and the man, with a flourish of 
his hat and another low bow, including all 
the children, departed. 

“ I think they are from the squire,” said 
Nan. “One is addressed to papa and one to 
me.” 

The fact of a letter, and from " the squire” 
of all people, being addressed to her, gave 
Nan quite an important air, and the Good- 
wins were much impressed by the circum- 
stance ; but Nan could not help feeling a 
certain nervousness, almost awe, in breaking 
that seal and opening that envelope. Finally, 
however, she did so, and read the letter, 
which was as follows, aloud : 

“ My Very Dear Little Friends : I ad- 
dress you altogether, though you are sepa- 
rate and quite distinct in my thoughts — my 
martial friend, who desires to see my regi- 
mentals ; the little mother, who, in addition 
to her especial charge, has sympathy to 
spare for the woes of others, and Nan, who 
is guide, philosopher, and friend, I should 
say, to the household. 


A Delayed Invitation. 


127 


“ 1 am afraid you had begun to class me 
once more with 4 the myths — there are so 
many more myths now than when I went to 
school ; or if you did not precisely send me 
back to the world of shadows, you must 
have thought me a very unreliable real 
squire. 

“ The truth is, only severe physical suf- 
fering could have made me deprive myself 
for so long of seeing my new friends again. 

“ Never were you, Nan, more eager to try 
a new game, or you, Martha, to dress 
your latest doll than I am to have you all 
here. I have sent a request to your father, 
Nan, that he will permit me the pleasure of 
your company. If he consents, and if the 
day after to-morrow be a fine one, the squire 
will have the pleasure of introducing you to 
Brakenbridge Iiall.’' 

The Goodwins could not help feeling a lit- 
tle envious, though they solaced themselves 
by declaring that they should be almost 
afraid to go there. Nan and Martha were 
eager for evening, that they might know 
whether they could go or not. Nan, in fact, 


128 


A Delayed Invitation. 


was waiting on the steps for her father, and 
ran to thrust the letter into his hands. 

“ My dearest Nan,” said he, ” will you 
permit me to take my hat off ? And I should 
be grateful if you would let me get rid of 
my coat, too.” 

Nan had disdained to say a word about the 
great news to Harry Moore, thus resenting 
his conduct of the afternoon, but she did not 
fail to tell Willie Slocum, who told his chum, 
so that when Nan delivered the squire’s let- 
ter to her father, the boys hung about, on 
some pretence, outside the gate to hear the 
reply. They were, however, disappointed, 
as Nan’s father stepped into the hall, leisurely 
removed coat and hat, and threw himself into 
a chair in the library before he opened the 
letter. 

“ It is a very politely worded request from 
the squire,” he remarked, when he had 
glanced over it, “for all of you children to 
spend Thursday at the Hall. He does not 
include me in the invitation, and, I can see, 
has no desire for grown-up acquaintances.” 

“ Can we go ?” asked Nan breathlessly. 

“ Why, certainly ; if the day’s fine I don't 


A Delayed Invitation. 


129 


see any objection. Mary or Bert Norton 
can go with you to the door and call for you 
in the evening.” 

But Bert Norton demurred when asked to 
perform this service. 

“ I don’t want to be in no ways disoblig- 
ing,” he said, ” but 1 should prefer to keep 
off of those premises, especially after night- 
fall.” 

“ But the children wouldn’t be allowed to 
go next or near the place if there was any- 
thing amiss,” argued old Mary. 

” Well, I don’t precisely say that there's 
anything amiss,” said the cautious Bert. 

He knows his own affairs, and if he wants 
to let the children go round there, why, he’s 
welcome to do so. But to get Bert Norton 
to put his foot inside that gate after sun- 
down — no, siree, you don’t do it.” 

” I shall go for you myself,” said Nan’s 
father, when these remarks were repeated to 
him, ” on my way home from the train ; and 
I’ll write the squire a few lines telling him 
that you will be there at the appointed hour, 
weather permitting.” 


1 3° 


A Day with the Squire. 


CHAPTER XII. 

A DAY WITH THE SQUIRE. 

Punctually at two o'clock on the after- 
noon of Thursday, the weather being fine, 
the children set off, escorted by old Mary, 
for the squire’s residence. Martha was filled 
with inward perturbation, and Nan certainly 
was nervous as they approached those for- 
midable-looking gates, which had so long 
shut them out from the untried world be- 
yond. 

Charlie alone was jubilant. He talked of 
nothing but uniforms, swords, and “ gold 
things” which he was about to see. Martha 
held Mary’s hand with a nervous clutch, and 
scarcely spoke a word ; Nan, on the con- 
trary, talked a good deal and rather fast, as 
was her wont when excited. 

“ I wish we were going home,” whispered 
Martha as they passed through the gate. 

“ Without going in ? Oh, no,” said Nan ; 
4 ‘ I would like to have been in.” 

Harry Moore and Willie Slocum were 
watching from afar the children's arrival. 


A Day with the Squire. 13 1 

They were most anxious to see who would 
admit them, but the avenue was long, and 
they had only a very indistinct vision of 
some one coming to the door and of the chil- 
dren passing through it and being swallowed 
up in darkness. 

Old Mary stayed just long enough to un- 
fasten the children’s jackets and take off 
Charlie’s outer coat and put the carriage in 
a place of safety. Then she took her leave, 
quite proud of the occurrence, and ready to 
do battle for the squire, and to discourse 
upon the grandeurs of the Hall to whoever 
would listen. Her audience was by no means 
small, for, indeed, she was waylaid by half a 
dozen village gossips on her homeward way. 

“ And so here you are,” said the squire. 
“ You have bearded the lion in his den, and 
I'm sure will be held for a long time to come 
in Woodville as ‘ the bravest of the brave.’ ” 

This whimsical address the children did 
not fully understand. ” But I knew,” Nan 
afterwards said, “that he was just joking 
about people being afraid of him.” 

“ The first thing to do,” said the squire, 
** is to sit comfortably down for a little while 


132 A Day with the Squire . 

and have a chat. Meanwhile, you can look 
about you and get accustomed to the place. 
After that 1 shall see how we can amuse our- 
selves/' 

Charlie was ensconced in an arm-chair, 
where Mary had placed him, his great eyes 
rolling round and round the room, and com- 
ing back every once and a while to fix them- 
selves on the squire. He was too much op- 
pressed by the novelty of his situation to 
have found his tongue. Yet Martha had got 
so far as to smile at the squire in answer to 
some question of his, and Nan had replied in 
monosyllables, shyly and uncomfortably. 

“ So far,” said the squire, ” our party isn't 
a success. I can’t talk to you about the 
tariff or the silver and gold excitement, and 
I don’t want to if I could. You can't talk 
to me about dolls or skipping ropes, and 
there is a deadlock. Come, Mr. Charlie, 
you had better relieve the situation by at 
least one remark.” 

” Where’s your sword ?” asked Charlie. 

“ Oh, that’s up-stairs. You’ll see it by and 
by.” 

“ Do you ever put it on ?’ ' demanded Charlie. 


A Day with the Squire . 133 

“Why, no; I don't nowadays. If 1 did, 
I'd have Martha here, for one, running away. 
Wouldn’t 1 , Martha?” 

Martha shook her head. She was sitting 
near the squire in a very low chair, and he 
reached out his hand and gently stroked her 
curls. Oddly enough, Martha did not feel 
the least afraid of the squire, and approached 
him with less timidity than she ordinarily 
showed to strangers. The squire, finding 
the situation somewhat strained, rang for 
Jake, and bade the old negro bring in a plate 
of nuts. 

This order was instantly obeyed, a heap- 
ing plateful of Brazilian nuts, walnuts, al- 
monds, and hazelnuts being placed on the 
table. This plan succeeded, for as the chil- 
dren broke the nuts, a work in which they 
were assisted by the squire, they also broke 
the ice. Very soon they were busy discuss- 
ing what they were to see that afternoon, and 
talking to the squire as if they had known 
him for years. 

“ If you had been grown people,” he re- 
marked gleefully, ‘ ‘ I wouldn’t have been as 
well acquainted with you in ten years’ time, 


134 A Day with the Squire . 

and I wouldn’t have had you come here for 
anything.” 

The children told the squire about Duke 
and the parrot, and about their awful experi- 
ences with the witch and the tramps. 

“ Well, you are an adventurous set," said 
the squire, looking- at them with his quizzical 
smile. “No one would suspect Martha of 
rushing into such perils.” 

“ Harry Moore said, perhaps, you were a 
ghost,” exclaimed Charlie rather irrelevant- 
ly, though in his own mind the train of asso- 
ciation was clear enough. 

“ He did !” said the squire, and somehow 
this idea seemed to amuse him unaccount- 
ably. His merriment was increased by Mar- 
tha’s efforts to suppress Charlie, and Nan’s 
evident confusion. 

“ That’s rather a startling statement to 
make about a man,” he added. “ It would 
make a stirring libel case, and what a lot 
of funny evidence would come up as to 
whether a man's habits were ghost-like or 
not. But now, my young friends, to busi 
ness, for, I take it, enjoyment is your busi- 
ness.” 


A Day with the Squire. 


135 


They all waited in silence to hear what 
they were to do next. 

“ We shall take a look through the house,”’ 
he said, “ and Charlie will have an opportu- 
nity of inspecting my trappings of war. So 
come on, sir.” 

He lifted Charlie with his single arm, and 
with Martha close beside him and Nan fol- 
lowing, they began the tour of inspection. 

The children had already grown familiar 
with that portion of the mysterious dwelling 
already seen. The opening of that door, 
about which they had so often conjectured, 
had led them into a wide hall, garnished by 
three or four solemn-looking paintings. 
There was a portrait which rather terrified 
Charlie of a Puritan divine in a big wig, and 
another of a Colonial governor, also one of a 
soldier of threatening aspect, with his hand 
upon his sword. The children had been 
brought at once to the squire’s study, a long 
room, with a very high ceiling and windows 
opening to the floor shaded by green Vene- 
tians. It had an open fireplace, and rugs 
covered the floor. It had a sofa and several 
arm-chairs, a confusion of pipes and books 


1 36 


A Day with the Squire. 


and odd trifles lying about here and there ; 
but certainly nothing either ghostly or mys- 
terious. 

When they crossed the big hall, however, 
they found themselves all at once in a great 
room, which might well have been described 
as “ ghostly/’ The paper on the wall might 
have been there a hundred years. It was a 
strange, heavily wrought, heavily flowered 
brocade. The chairs were of rosewood, cov- 
ered in stiff, flowered satin or taffeta. Pon- 
derous rose-jars stood about, their traditional 
odor still perfuming the air, for Jake and 
Jake’s wife, the cook, thought it a solemn 
duty to prepare the roses every midsummer. 

Charlie began to sniff. 

“ I think there are roses in here,” he said 
in a hushed whisper. 

” The skeletons of roses,” said the squire, 
44 or dream roses, if you will, haunting us 
from bygone summers.” 

A mantel in one corner had silver candle- 
sticks upon it, through which gas had been 
brought. Jake had lit them, and they gave 
a solemn light to the room. The chandeliers 
were of heavy, antiquated bronze. The fire- 


A Day with the Squire. 


137 


place, long unused, had silver dogs upon it. 
Here, again, long windows were covered 
with the inevitable Venetians. The light 
from the gas-jets flickered over a portrait of 
a lady in eighteenth-century ball dress, with 
roses catching a gauzy scarf about her shoul- 
ders. 

“ That's a very pretty lady," said Charlie, 
‘ ‘ and she s not old." 

" That old young lady," said the squire, 
" was my grandmother." 

" Then how could she be ?” asked Martha, 
glancing at the squire’s gray hair. 

" Ah, little Martha," said the squire, “ 1 
was once young. You shall see up-stairs. 
And she, why, she stays here in immortal 
youth." 

He took the children away now, up the 
broad stairs, with square lobbies ending each 
short flight, to show them his " trappings of 
war." Jake had laid out the uniform as 
proudly as he had done in the years when the 
squire used to wear it, and Charlie fingered 
the epaulettes and the buttons upon the dark- 
blue cavalry coat with exquisite delight. 

“ I wish 1 could be a soldier," said Charlie 


138 A Day with the Squire. 

wistfully. “ If only my legs would get 
strong. Do you think they will ?” 

He looked into the squire’s face, and the 
squire, looking into his, said : 

“ If it be appointed.” 

Charlie did not know just what that meant, 
but it sounded well, and he felt comforted. 
The boy was in raptures over the sword, 
and when the squire fitted the cavalry hat 
with gold cord and tassel upon his head, he 
fairly screamed with delight, even though it 
went down over his nose and caused Nan 
and Martha to laugh immoderately. 

The squire, sitting down among his little 
guests in that room, where the relics of his 
once stirring life lay all about them, told 
them one or two short stories of the days 
when he had worn those garments. He re^ 
lated in short, terse sentences how he had rid- 
den in perilous times from one outpost to an- 
other with despatches or had faced death at 
the cannon’s mouth. He told them of gab 
lant Phil Kearny, of Sheridan, of Sherman, 
and of Grant, but he said no word of his own 
high courage nor of the encomiums that had 
been heaped upon him. 


A Day with the Squire. 


139 


“ Did you ever kill any one ?” asked Mar- 
tha, and there was a strange blending of emo- 
tions on her sensitive little face. 

“ I don’t know, my dear,” said the squire 
very gravely. ” I never deliberately picked 
out any one, and in battle it is hard to say.” 

He bent towards the small figure at his 
side, saying with a winning sweetness, which 
few had ever seen in his face or manner : 

“ And even if it were so, little heart, a 
soldier must do his duty.” 

It seemed as if, strong man as he was, he 
craved the good opinion of that earnest little 
soul. 

So do some children even show forth the 
beauty of goodness. 

Martha wanted to see the picture of the 
squire as a young soldier, so that brought 
them all into another room, with lovely views 
from the window, commanding the fairest 
portions of Woodville. 

“ It seems as if we were in another place,” 
said Nan, ” not Woodville at all.” 

“You are in the region of the past, that is 
why,” said the squire, ” and, of course, it is 
unfamiliar to you.” 


140 


A Day with the Squire . 


The light streamed full upon the portrait. 
It showed the squire, straight and tali, with 
fair, slightly curling hair, blue eyes, and 
smiling mouth. He was in the glory of a 
first uniform. 

“ That was taken the year I left West 
Point," said the squire. " It isn’t much like 
me now, is it, Nan ?" 

Nan looked from one to the other, her 
clear, honest eyes raised to the squire’s face, 
as she answered in her uncompromising 
truthfulness. 

“ No, I don’t think it is." 

The answer pleased the squire. He liked 
the child’s perfect candor. People always 
noted and appreciated that quality in Nan. 

“ I might know it was you," said Martha, 
looking up from her tiny stature to the 
squire’s six feet. 

“Would you?" said the squire, looking 
down at her half-wistfully. 

“Oh, you’re just splendid there!" cried 
Charlie. 

“ Some people used to think so," said the 
squire, with his melancholy laugh. / 

Then he asked them if they would like to 


A Day with the Squire. 14 1 

go up into the land of forgotten things, the 
attic. The children very willingly consent- 
ed. Such places have always a fascination 
about them. So the squire brought them 
up a long flight of steps, into a great garret, 
which would have been dark, only that Jake 
had preceded them and let in all possible 
light. The squire put Charlie into a ham- 
mock and sat down himself on a trunk, bid- 
ding the children do all the exploring. There 
were toys of all descriptions up there, some 
more or less broken, all of quaint fashions, like 
and yet unlike what children play with to-day. 
Charlie liked best a soldier’s suit, which the 
squire had prophetically worn as a small boy. 

The squire made them open trunks con- 
taining all sorts of queer trinkets and once 
gay ornaments, feathers, ribbons, laces, 
gloves, scarfs, and high-heeled slippers. In 
one trunk was a ball-dress with all its accom- 
paniments. 

“ I believe that is the very gown my grand- 
mother had on in the picture below," said 
the squire, “ but I am not sure." 

“ It’s nice and mysterious to think so," 
said Nan. 


142 A Day with the Squire 

Another trunk contained a bridal outfit 
with orange blossoms and veil. 

“ My mother’s,” said the squire, and he 
closed the lid in silence. 

Then he suggested that if the children were 
not afraid to be left up there, he would go 
down and smoke a pipe and let them have a 
regular play, just as they would do at home. 
He told them to dress up, if they wished, in 
these strange, old garments, to open the re- 
maining trunks and boxes — in fact, to do as 
they pleased. He did not make any restric- 
tions. He felt instinctively that they would 
behave with delicacy and not touch what 
was sacred. 

The children were charmed with this 
strange, new experience, though Martha and 
Charlie were at first a little uneasy when 
they saw the squire’s head disappearing 
down the stairs. Nan was perfectly happy 
and unconcerned. She made out a dozen 
plays with the odd things lying about. She 
dressed up as a princess, a vivandilre, wear- 
ing the soldier’s cap and jacket, and she 
arrayed Charlie and Martha in a variety of 
costumes. In this wise she gave old Jake 


A Day with the Squire. 


M3 


quite a turn. When his woolly head ap- 
peared above the stairway he saw Nan and 
Martha as ladies of the old time, wigs, bro- 
cades and all, while Charlie posed as a cav- 
alier. 

“ I done thought some of them had come 
back," he said afterwards to Dinah, his wife. 
“ I declare it made me feel mighty queer.” 

“ You ole fool, Jake!” said his better half, 
bidding him hurry to take “ the dishes” up 
before they got cold. 

“ We will leave the garden till after,” said 
the squire. ” Dinah has tea ready, and 
doesn’t want things to get spoiled.” 

The dining-room was very large and grand. 
The sideboard was covered with old plate, 
and the clock in the corner seemed like some 
stately, old-time servitor. Still, after a slight 
formality, at first, the children thoroughly 
enjoyed their repast, which was cooked by 
Dinah in true Southern fashion. It would 
be hard to tell how many good things were 
there, but the children, at all times small 
eaters, could only do justice to a meagre 
portion of them. 

They all said their grace before sitting 


144 


A Day with the Squire. 


down, during which the squire bowed his 
head. Afterwards, when they were walking 
in the garden, where there were a great 
many stately plants and foreign flowers, 
which the squire called “ exotics/’ he touched 
a little upon the matter ol religion. 

Jake was driving Charlie in his carriage, 
and the squire held Martha by the hand. 

“ So you little people are Catholics,” said 
the squire. 

“ Oh, yes,” said Nan ; “ we go to Father 
McNally’s church when we are at Wood- 
ville.” 

“I might have known,” said the squire 
under his breath — ” I might have known. 
But I suppose Martha’s too little to go to 
church ?” 

“ Oh, no !” said Martha, scandalized. 

“ She goes everyday,” said Nan. “ Often 
we go to Mass in the morning — nearly al- 
ways, and, anyway, we make a visit in the 
afternoon.” 

“A visit?” said the squire, somewhat 
puzzled. 

To God,” said Martha. ” We know by 
the red light that He’s there.” 


A Day with the Squire. 


H5 


“ Ah ! M cried the squire, with a sudden 
cry as of pain, *' how long is it since I have 
visited God ?” 

The children were silent. This was be- 
yond them. 

“ And does your nurse take you to 
church ?” asked the squire. 

“ Oh, we just go ourselves,” said Martha. 

“ Except on Sundays or other days, when 
papa’s here. He always goes with us.” 

“And you like to go?” inquired the 
squire. 

The children he had known were brought 
there, as it were, by force once a week on 
dreary Sabbaths, and kept quiet with much 
difficulty. 

“ Oh, we love to go,” said Martha. 

“ Yes,” said Nan, “ it’s quiet in there, and 
there are flowers and the lights burning, and 
we can say our prayers better. Though, of 
course, we have an altar at home, and on the 
first Fridays and days like that we light it up 
and sing.” 

“ Perhaps some time you will take me to 
church with you, Martha.” 

Martha looked up into his face to see if he 


146 A Day with the Squire. 

was laughing at her, then she laughed her- 
self. 

“ Oh, you can just go,” she said. 

“ Well, pray for me next time,” said the 
squire. “ You’ll be heard up there.” 

” I might say a Hail Mary,” suggested 
Martha. 

“ Do,” said the squire ; and straightway 
his thoughts flew back to an hospital ward. 
He had been carried in wounded, and that 
never-to-be-forgotten Sister of Charity, who 
had taken care of him, had softly said Hail 
Mary in the stillness of the night. 

” Nan and I think,” said Martha, ” that 
children are a good deal badder than gro wn- 
up people.” 

” Do you?” said the squire, giving her 
a strange look ; ” and why, my small phi- 
losopher ?” 

“ Oh, just they are,” she said. ” Grown 
people never fight or say things to each other. ’ ’ 

Charlie had at first remained obstinately 
silent with his strange guide ; but Jake, like 
most of his race, had a gift for attracting 
children, and soon won him over. He was 
now engaged in discussing the great height 


A Day with the Squire. 


i47 


of the garden wall, upon which sat a row of 
purple and white pigeons, tranquil in this 
tranquillity. He also called Jake’s attention 
to rooks cawing in the elms far above their 
heads. The evening was beginning to fall 
over the old garden, and the boy’s childish 
treble rose clear in the silence. The squire, 
deep in thought, paced the garden with Nan 
and Martha, who said not a word to disturb 
him. 

Presently Jake was summoned to the front 
door. A carriage was there for the children. 
Their father was in it, but he did not get out, 
so Jake carried Charlie down the steps and 
mounted his tiny carriage on the front of the 
big one, while Nan and Martha stood bid- 
ding good-night to the squire. He held 
Martha’s hand a moment the longest, whis- 
pering : 

“ Good-night, little friend, don’t forget 
the Hail Mary.” 

He stood, a lonely figure, watching the 
carriage disappear down the avenue, and 
when it turned and passed out of sight he 
raised his eyes to the sky. It was strewn 
with solemn stars. 


148 


The Lily-Pond. 


“ 1 know now/’ he said, “ the meaning of 
those words, ‘ Of such is the kingdom of 
heaven.' ” 

That night, for the first time in years, the 
squire knelt and prayed — prayers which 
came back to him dimly, said at least in ear- 
nestness of heart. Meanwhile, the children 
were talking fast and furiously to old Mary 
of the wonders they had seen. They looked 
forward to telling the Goodwins and the boys 
all about it, though they knew that Harry 
Moore would cry, “ Fee fo fum !” and pre- 
tend to inquire if they had been eaten up, 
which, indeed, he did next morning. Their 
last thought, however, was of Brakenbridge 
Hall, and of regret that their afternoon with 
the squire was over. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

THE LILY-POND. 

It was in the last week of September. 
The children, except Charlie, had all gone 
to the lily pond that afternoon. The girls 
wanted to get lilies, and the boys to do some 


The Lily-Pond. 


149 


fishing. As there was only one boat, which 
always lay moored near the edge of the pond, 
the children had to take it in turns. Edith 
Goodwin and Nan remained upon the shore, 
while Martha with Harry Moore, Willie 
Slocum, and Mary Goodwin went out in the 
direction of the bed of lilies. 

The lilies were at the deepest part of the 
pond, and when the boat had arrived there 
its occupants became engrossed in trying to 
gather as many as possible of the waxen like, 
white flowers. 

Harry Moore stood upright, snatching 
recklessly at a particularly fine lily, and caus- 
ing the boat to give a lurch. Martha, who 
sat in the stern, was thus thrown into the 
water. It took Nan barely a second of time 
to realize what had occurred. She took no 
time for reflection, but with a hurried prayer 
plunged also into the pond. Happily the 
child had been taught to swim, but as she 
afterwards said : 

“ I know 1 would have jumped in anyway.” 

Hampered by her clothing, it was some 
time before she could reach the spot where 
Martha had disappeared for the second time. 


The Lily Pond . 


* 5 ° 

The suspense was awful. Mary Goodwin 
was screaming at the top of her voice, Harry 
Moore and Willie Slocum blubbering. 

“ Bring the boat nearer ! M gasped Nan, as 
with a frantic effort she seized Martha by the 
hair and held her head up. Willie Slocum, 
recovering his presence of mind, obeyed, and 
he and Harry Moore dragged the dripping 
form of their playfellow into the boat, Nan 
holding on with one hand to the stern. She 
was presently brought in, and the boys began 
to row towards the shore, where a crowd of 
sympathizing and horror-stricken people 
had been brought by Edith Goodwin. 

“ Nevermind me,” said Nan, “ only Martha.” 

Martha was carried into the nearest house, 
and a doctor, who chanced to be at hand, 
began the work of trying to restore her. 
Nan, in her wet clothes, walked up and down 
outside, unheeding those who besought her 
to go and change her clothes. 

The suddenness, the awfulness of the 
change which had come upon the brightness 
of that September day, fell upon her strong 
spirit with overpowering weight. 

Martha was in there — dead, perhaps ? No, 


The Lily- Pond. 


151 

Nan would not believe it. It could never be. 
She must wait, even if it were long hours, till 
the doctor or some one else came out to tell 
her how it was. Martha dead ! — brave, 
faithful, little Martha, the tender little mother 
to Charlie, the gentlest, most unselfish of 
little beings. 

Nan remembered, as she stood there, a 
hundred instances of her kindness and her 
thoughtfulness. Oh, the agony of that time 
of waiting ! Nan could not tell how long 
she was there, with her head resting against 
the gate-post. She felt a hand gently touch 
her shoulder after a time, and she looked up 
to see the squire beside her. 

“ What is this I hear about Martha?” he 
asked almost sternly ; but his face softened 
when he saw the expression upon Nan’s as 
she answered : 

” Oh, I don’t know ! I don’t know !” 

The squire’s hand rested softly on her 
shoulder. 

” So soon, poor child, so soon has suffer- 
ing overtaken your light heart ?” 

He did not speak again for a few moments, 
then he said : 


* 5 2 


The Lily-Pond. 


“ Things may not be so bad. She was 
not long in the water. I will stay with you 
till we hear.” 

So they stood together silently, till at last 
there was a stir and bustle, the door creaked 
on its hinges. Some one was coming out. 
Nan did not raise her head. She felt that she 
could not hear the news that might be told 
her. The squire went forward. She heard 
his voice in conversation with some one else. 
Then he returned to her. 

“ Look up, Nan, my girl ; all is well so 
far. Martha is coming round finely, and 
does not seem much the worse. But you — 
wet to the skin ! Why, of course, you were 
in the water, too. Doctor, will you drive 
this imprudent girl home and look after her ?” 

But they had to wait a moment. The re- 
lief was so intense that Nan burst into tears 
and sobbed unrestrainedly. The squire seem- 
ed distressed by . her grief, but the doctor 
made him a sign that she must not be dis- 
turbed. 

Finally she was put into the buggy and 
driven home amid the congratulations and 
rejoicing of the Woodville folk, for little 


A Pathetic Little Patient . 




Martha was universally beloved, and Nan, 
too, was a great favorite. 

Nan’s father had gone to town as usual 
that morning, and had heard nothing of the 
disaster till he came home late at night. 

Nan never then or afterwards seemed to 
take any credit to herself for the part that 
she had played in what would have been but 
for her so fearful a tragedy. When her father 
came he took Nan in his arms, and said simply: 

“I’m proud of my own, brave girl.” 

“ Oh, it wasn’t brave,’’ said Nan. “ I 
couldn’t leave her in there.” 

She shuddered all over as she spoke, and 
her father prudently changed the subject. 


CHAPTER XIV. 

A PATHETIC LITTLE PATIENT. 

But Martha did not get well quite so 
quickly as had been anticipated, so that she 
made a pathetic little figure staying up-stairs 
in her snow-white bed for days and days. 

When Charlie was first told the news he 
sobbed and cried bitterly. It took old 


i54 


A Pathetic Little Patient. 


Mary’s best efforts to console him, and he 
often reverted to the subject in many and 
curious ways. 

“ If my sister Martha had been dead,” he 
said to Nan one day, “ I don’t know what 
I’d have done, because my legs are no use, 
and there’d be no one to take care of me.” 

” I think I would have died, too, Charlie,” 
said Nan ; ” but if I hadn’t I would have 
taken care of you.” 

“ But it wouldn’t be like Martha,” said 
Charlie. ” She never gets cross, and she 
knows how to fix me in my carriage. 

Nan's heart smote her, and she did not 
answer. 

” But, then,” said Charlie, with a confi- 
dent laugh, “ God wouldn’t let her die, be- 
cause He knew she had to take care of me, 
and you wouldn’t either, Nan. You pulled 
her out of the bad water.” 

Nan and Charlie were only allowed to visit 
Martha for a certain time each day. She 
had to be kept quiet, the doctor said. But 
when they did go the subject of the accident 
always came up, Martha talking about it in 
her wise way. 


A Pathetic Little Patient. 155 

“ Nan saved me,” she always said. “ If 
Nan hadn’t been so brave 1 would have been 
drowned.” 

” Were you frightened?” Nan asked her 
once. 

” Oh, at first I was, and I said a prayer to 
my good angel. I think my angel kept me 
up till you came, Nan. Father McNally said 
so when he came to see me, and he gave me 
a picture of an angel with a child in his arms. 
But after a minute I didn’t know anything.” 

” Wouldn’t it be awful to die ?” said Nan. 

” I don’t know,” said Martha thought- 
fully ; ” perhaps I wouldn’t be much afraid. 
I’d be seeing my mother and father up there. 

“ You don’t want to die, Martha?” asked 
Nan, chilled by her cousin’s way of looking 
at things. 

“ I wouldn’t like to leave Charlie, on ac- 
count of his not being able to walk, and, 
then, you and your father and old Mary. I 
like playing, too, and things.” 

The first few times that Charlie had been 
admitted to the sick-room he kept very still, 
gazing at Martha, as if she had really come 
back from the dead. The darkened room, 


156 A Pathetic Little Patient. 

the smell of medicines and restoratives, and 
the sight of Martha's pale face oppressed 
him. But gradually he got over this feeling 
and talked much as usual. 

44 If you had died, Martha,” he repeated 
to her one day, “ I think I’d have died, too.” 

44 P’raps so,” said Martha. 44 God might 
have let you come up to heaven at the same 
time. ” 

44 I wonder how you get there?” said 
Charlie, knitting his brows ; 4 4 and, Martha, 
I wonder if I’ll be able to walk ?” 

44 I don’t know,” said Martha, 44 but I think 
you will.” 

44 Do angels walk ?” asked Charlie. 

44 Yes,” said Martha. 

44 1 thought perhaps they flew,” said Charlie. 

44 In the pictures they have their feet on 
the ground,” said Martha. 

44 And pieces on their shoulders,” said 
Charlie. 

44 Wings,” said Martha. 

44 Yes, and a white dress with gold on it.” 

There was silence. 

44 Martha,” asked Charlie, 44 can children 
play in heaven ?” 


A Pathetic Little Patient . 157 

" If God wants them to, I suppose/' after 
which Martha abruptly changed the subject. 

I must always love Nan," she said, " be- 
cause only for her I would have been drown- 
ed ; but, anyway, I do.” 

"I do sometimes," said Charlie, " and 
other times 1 just hate her." 

** Why?" asked Martha. 

" Because she’s cross or she calls me ‘ lit- 
tle goose/ ” said Charlie. 

" Well, if she does?" said Martha, wearily 
taking up the defence. Martha’s eyes began 
to close, too ; she was getting tired. 

“ Martha," cried Charlie, in alarm, " are 
you dying ?" 

" No, I’m only going to sleep," said Mar- 
tha. 

"You mustn’t die, because you have to 
take care of me." 

“ I know," said Martha sleepily; adding 
after a pause, " When you go down tell Mary 
to be sure and feed Jim." . 

Mary came in just then, and bending over 
Martha bathed her forehead, gave her a cool- 
ing drink, and took Charlie away to let her 
sleep. As they got to the door Martha asked 


A Pathetic Little Patient. 


* 5 * 

where Nan was, and was told that she had 
gone to make a visit at the church. 

“ I can’t go to church because I’m in bed/* 
said Martha, “ but I will when I get up.” 

Nan coming in down-stairs said discontent- 
edly : 

“It looks so lonesome to see Martha’s 
toys in the glass-room and her flower bed 
outside, and Jim sits still in his cage hardly 
saying a word, and I know Duke and the 
cat miss her.” 

“ How could any one help it?” said old 
Mary. ” She has a heart in her body as big 
— as big as a giant.” 

“ The squire has sent every day to ask for 
her, hasn’t he?’ observed Nan as she saw 
Jake coming in the gate, and ran to meet 
him with news of the patient. 

” And look at these lovely flowers,” said 
Nan. “ He always sends candy or flowers. 
The squire told Jake to-day he was coming to 
see Martha as soon as she was well enough.” 

“ Did he though ?” said Martha. 

“ Do you think she will soon be well ?” 

And Mary answered : 

‘ 4 I hope and pray so.” 


Farewell to Woodville. 


159 


chaptp:r xv. 

FAREWELL TO WOODVILLE. 

When Martha was first able to come down- 
stairs she looked round at everything with 
the sense of its all being unfamiliar. 

“ I feel as if I had been away a long time," 
she said. 

" But you weren’t away," said Charlie,. 
" because I saw you in bed up-stairs." 

“ 1 know I wasn’t," said Martha ; but she 
did not attempt to explain further. 

It was still fine weather, though it was 
melancholy to see the ground covered with 
leaves and the trees nearly bare of foliage. 
Martha was out on the gallery that first day 
well wrapped up. Charlie was close by in 
his own chair, and Nan sat near on the steps. 
Duke was contentedly lying in the sun, ap- 
parently glad to have all his little people 
about him again. The parrot was hanging 
in his cage on the sunniest part of the wall, 
spelling out letter after letter of the alphabet, 
which was a favorite pursuit of his. Some- 
times he interrupted himself to call loudly 


160 Farewell to Woodville. 

on Duke, whom he could perceive clearly 
from his elevated station. 

“ Here, Duke ! Here, Duke ! He-re !” 

Duke at first raised his head and gave a 
languid glance upward, going to sleep in- 
stantly again without even a wag of his tail. 
44 That thing ii) the cage,” he seemed to say, 
“ who tries to talk like human beings, and 
has the presumption to call m* % isn’t worth 
even a bark. ” 

Sometimes the undaunted parrot addressed 
a shrill, “ Hello, bird !” to Martha, or its 
customary exclamation of 4 ‘ Good-by !” 

“We shall soon be saying 4 good-by ’ to 
Woodville,” said Nan. 

For Martha’s accident and subsequent ill- 
ness had shortened the time of their stay 
there. She did not seem to grow strong 
very rapidly, and the doctor prescribed 
change not only of air, but of scene, which 
should divert her mind from dwelling upon 
the recent painful event. Their departure 
was a disappointment. They had hoped to 
stay until after Thanksgiving and have the 
patriotic tableaux, upon which Nan had set 
her heart. But it was not to be, so the next 


Farewell to Woodville. 161 

best thing was “ a grand party/' which they 
were to have as a farewell to the place. 

“ I wish we could have had it in the 
woods,” said Nan. 

” Where the old witch was ?” asked Char- 
lie anxiously. 

“ No, just in the little woods near here. 
You know where we used to go early in the 
summer, Martha, that place where we were 
when you went to get the flowers and fell 
down. 

“ And the grocery dog ran after me,” said 
Martha with a wan smile ; ” but I’m not 
afraid of him now ; he wags his tail when I 
pass.” 

“ Well, we can’t have it there,” continued 
Nan ; “ so we will have the glass-room all 
hung with autumn leaves and ferns. We 
will make it look just like the woods, and 
the dolls will look like fairies who belong 
there, and we are going to have pretending 
tea in ‘ the up-stairs room.’ Of course we’ll 
have to have our real tea in the breakfast- 
room. ” 

” And Duke can be in?” said Martha. 

“ Oh, yes ; he’ll be the hound of the for- 


162 


Farewell to Woodville . 


est,” said Nan ; “ and the parrot can hang 
up among the leaves and flowers and be a 
strange, foreign bird.” 

“ I wish we were going to stay here,” said 
Martha. ” Don’t you, Nan?” 

“ Yes, I’d love to have stayed,” said Nan. 

“If I hadn’t fallen into the water,” said 
Martha, ” or,” she added, and a swift change 
came over her face, ” if I had died.” 

“ Then you couldn’t have stayed here,” 
said Nan, who did not want to consider that 
view of the case. 

“ But the rest of you might,” said Martha. 

“ Once I thought Martha was dying,” said 
Charlie with a chuckle. 

“ When?” said Nan. 

” One day,” said Charlie. “ What day 
was it, Martha ?” 

” When I was in bed and you thought I 
was dying because I closed my eyes.” 

” What is dying?” said Charlie, knitting 
his brows ; but no one answered. 

Though they talked of death often after 
the careless manner of children, and espe- 
cially since the accident, they could not ex- 
plain it. 


Farewell to WoodvilU . 163 

The event of that day was the arrival of 
the squire to see Martha. 

It was the first visit he was known to have 
made in the memory of Woodville, and the 
whole village was excited about it. He 
found the children still sitting upon the ve- 
randa discussing their plans for the farewell 
celebration. The children invited him to 
come, but he said he did not think he could 
face so many strangers, and that he would 
make that his farewell. 

“ I wish I had known you sooner, dear 
little people,” he said. “ You would have 
cheered many a long hour for me, and I 
might have done something to make things 
pleasant for you.” 

“We will probably come next summer,” 
said Martha. 

The squire smiled, but it was a melancholy 
smile. Life had taught him to fear partings, 
and to look forward but little to meetings. 

“ I hope so sincerely,” he said ; and when 
he got up to go he gave to each a little pres- 
ent he had brought— to Nan, a tiny bracelet 
of exquisite workmanship ; to Charlie, a box 
of curiously wrought, quaint figures of sol- 


164 


Farewell to Woodville. 


diers and peasants in bright-colored gar- 
ments, and to Martha a locket. He bade 
her open it after he had gone. 

It was quite an affecting parting — the 
squire, with all his wide experience, simple 
almost as themselves, and they who lament- 
ed with children's intense, if brief sorrow 
the loss of this new friend. The tears rolled 
down Martha’s cheeks as the squire passed 
through the gate and turned to wave his 
hand to them with a special smile for her. 

Martha then opened her locket. It con- 
tained a miniature of the squire, taken at the 
same time as the portrait, and upon the 
empty space opposite, in almost infinitesimal 
characters, the words, “ From your first, 

TRUE KNIGHT.” 

But the day of the farewell performance 
having arrived, all else was forgotten. The 
Goodwins, Harry Moore, and Willie Slocum 
appeared early with decorations. Harry 
and Willie brought a wheelbarrow full of 
leaves and ferns. The Goodwins were laden 
with branches, and, of course, Nan had done 
her share. In an incredibly short time the 
glass house was transformed into a very tol- 


Farewell to Woodville . 


i6 5 

erable forest. A species of thicket was made 
at the end by a number of transplanted 
bushes of suitable height and branches of 
trees ; but this department was left almost 
entirely to Bert Norton. 

About half-past four the festival began. 
The girls, stationed behind the trees, sang a 
chorus, in which the words “ good-by" and 
“ farewell" occurred very frequently. 

1 wrote it, and it wasn’t very good," said 
Nan to her father, who, with old Mary, formed 
the grown-up part of the audience, Harry 
Moore and Willie Slocum being the remain- 
der, “ and we just sang it to the air of ‘ Red, 
White, and Blue,’ because we knew that well." 

The parrot had to be ejected during this 
performance, as he insisted on swelling the 
chorus uninvited. Duke seemed uneasy and 
sniffed at the bushes, as if to be sure that it 
was really his own people who were in be- 
hind them. He made Martha laugh during 
the singing by thrusting in his nose and lick- 
ing her hand. 

After " disporting themselves in the for- 
est" some time Nan went solemnly up-stairs 
to prepare for “ pretending tea." Each 


i66 


Farewell to Woodville. 


guest on mounting to the “ up-stairs room’' 
was introduced to 

” My sister, who is rather ill.” 

It was pleasant, though it is certain that 
the boys enjoyed “ real” tea more, for old 
Mary had surpassed herself to make the oc- 
casion a memorable one. Altogether it was a 
merry party, for children do not generally al- 
low future sorrow to interfere with present joy. 

The sorrow came next morning, when they 
saw the playroom dismantled, though the sun- 
light of that glorious October day streamed 
in through the glass roof and walls as if to 
fill its emptiness. ” It was dreary,” as Nan 
said, to see the dining-room and parlor with 
shutters up, the kitchen fire out, and finally 
the hall-door locked, as they waited their 
turn on the veranda to be driven to the sta- 
tion. The parrot’s cage, securely covered 
with a leathern cover, through which Jim 
croaked fiercely, stood on the gallery near a 
basket, in which struggled and meowed the 
cat. This gave rise to one funny incident at 
least, which caused Martha and Charlie 
nearly to choke with suppressed laughter. 
When the expressman had almost finished 


Farewell to IVoodville. 167 

collecting his load, he seized upon the basket 
containing the unhappy feline, with his cus- 
tomary, “ Is this to go ?” 

The cat saw her opportunity, and gave him 
a scratch, which caused him to drop the basket 
in haste. Duke wore a sad and resigned air, 
as well as a collar with a leash attached to it. 

Martha began to cry silently as the car- 
riage drove away, Nan looked depressed, 
and Charlie gloomy. 

The day before had been a round of fare- 
wells. Nan’s father had taken a carriage 
and driven them to Father McNally’s and 
to the church. 

“ I think it looked better than ever to- 
day,” said Nan, “ only the picture looked 
rather sad over the altar.” 

” And the red light was dim, I think,” said 
Martha. Perhaps there had been a mist be 
fore her eyes. 

Charlie had them laughing by crying out, 
“ Good-by, God,” as they left the church, 
and Martha had rebuked him, saying that 
“ God would be in the city, too.” They 
had bidden farewell to all the Woodville 
folks, but still there were many at the station 


i68 


Farewell to Woodville. 


bringing simple offerings of good-will, the 
Goodwin girls, very tearful, making plans 
for future meetings. Harry Moore roughly 
squeezed all the children’s hands, and had 
hard work to keep back his tears ; and Willie 
Slocum, less successful, came with tear- 
stained face to thrust a last offering of friend- 
ship, a peppermint stick, into Charlie’s hand. 

Finally the train began to move. There 
was waving of hands and shouts of “ Good- 
by !” and it was with a real pang the chil- 
dren saw the familiar objects in the landscape 
passing out of sight. 

“ There’s the woods,” cried Nan. 

” And the church,” said Charlie. 

” And Brakenbridge Hall,” said Martha. 

“ And there,” said Nan, “ is the last little 
bit of the village.” 

Another station was reached, and the chil- 
dren sank back disconsolate in the seats, feel- 
ing as if they could never care for any other 
place ; and this feeling grew upon them more 
and more as Nan and the others realized that 
they had left dear Woodville behind them. 


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